


Rescue of the Wretched

by Mando_Cyare



Series: Not So Wretched Fate [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Difference, Alcohol, Angst, Banter, Bisexual Female Character, Biting, Blood and Injury, Character Study, Choking, Creampie, Crying, Daddy Kink, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunken Flirting, Exasperated Nurse, F/M, Feelings Realization, Grumpy Old Men, How Many Times Can Boba Fett Say Little One/Princess, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Massage, Masturbation, Medical Procedures, Mention of Clone Wars, Mild Degradation, Morning Sex, Mutual Pining, Naked Female Clothed Male, Optional Daddy Kink, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overstimulation, Pet Names, Possessive Boba, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Size Difference, Size Kink, Spanking, Squirting, Subspace, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voice Kink, brat taming, plus sized character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:08:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 76,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mando_Cyare/pseuds/Mando_Cyare
Summary: Left to die on the sands of Tatooine, Boba Fett expected nothing.  No rescue, no aid, nothing.  But sometimes fate steps in to rescue the wretched, whoever they might be.  And sometimes that fate comes with a soft face, gentle hands, and a kind heart.
Relationships: Boba Fett/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Not So Wretched Fate [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069355
Comments: 218
Kudos: 406





	1. Fate Steps In

**Author's Note:**

> So... here's the first chapter of my new series. I had a desperate need for a grumpy Boba Fett seducing his easily flustered nurse/doctor, who is desperately trying to remain professional. This is purely self indulgent but I figured everyone would enjoy this.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boba Fett gets pulled from the edge of death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (daddy kink starts chapter 15, if you only want to read to that point)
> 
> The way I wrote this, you could use the chrome extension for word replacement (Y/N etc) to get rid of the word 'daddy' and replace it with something of your choice, like 'master'

The man should have been dead.

Flies buzzed over him as he lay prone in the sand, scavengers circling in the air overhead. Tattered clothes exposed huge expanses of burned skin, caked with sand and inflamed with infection. 

Anything of value on him had already been picked clean, so the least Ravla could do was give the poor man a proper burial. Or, as proper a burial as could be had on Tatooine. But when she reached for him, a powerful hand clamped down on her wrist, yanking her to her knees with a startled yelp.

The bald, blistered head lifted, and a pair of wild, blood-shot brown eyes caught hers. She knew that look, knew that determination and zeal. This wasn’t a man to die out in the sun, in the middle of the desert on some backwater planet. He wanted to _live_.

A calm settled over her, she offered a gentle smile, putting her free hand over his as it dug painfully into her wrist. “I’m going to help you,” she tried in basic. “Please let go of my arm.”

He was breathing hard, desperate eyes searching her face. This man had been a warrior, she was sure of it. But whoever or whatever he had been before, he needed her help now. Finally, he let go, as if he had used the last of his strength to reach out for her.

Good. Now all that remained was figuring out how the hell she was going get a man twice her size back home.

000

When Boba Fett woke, he was underwater. 

No… that wasn’t quite right. He wasn’t drowning, instead breathing easy through whatever was strapped around his nose and mouth. But he could feel the liquid against his eyes, blurring his vision of the world around him. There was a faint chemical taste in the back of his mouth, and it stirred his mind into action, searching his memory at the familiarity.

Bacta.

That would explain the underwater feeling, and why his body wasn’t still filled with burning pain from head to toe. As his body adjusted, he saw a dim figure standing before the tank. Female? He couldn’t really tell. But he saw tanned skin against light clothing. The room beyond was vaguely medical, but too blurred for him to make out any details.

_“You’re awake.”_

The voice speaking in his ear made him start. It must have made his heartrate spike as well, because when the voice came again, it was at a lower volume, almost definitely female.

_“Sorry. My name is Ravla Cobor. You’re in my home. I found you badly hurt out in the desert.”_

A healer of some kind then. Well, that was lucky.

 _“You’ve been in here about two weeks,”_ she continued.

That long?

 _“You probably don’t remember much right now, but you should be safe to come out in a couple days.”_ There was a quiet sound, maybe laughter. Whatever device she was using didn’t pick it up well, and it came through crackling. _“You’re lucky, whoever you are. I was starting to think you’d never wake up.”_

He _was_ lucky. _Very_ lucky. Boba’s mind might have been hazy, but he remembered enough. Under the haze, he felt a curl of pride; he was quite certain that he had never heard of _anyone_ surviving falling into a sarlacc pit. Though, up until now, he wouldn’t have really called what he’d done _survive_.

Fate was a funny thing.

As entrenched with scum and villainy as he had been in life, most would say he had deserved his death. And yet somehow, the universe and seen fit to let him live. As his mind began to drift again, he was aware of a small hand reaching out, flattening to the glass in front of him. 

Almost reflexively, Boba reached out, too, but his mind was gone again before he could make contact.

000

Getting the man out of the bacta tank was a pain in the ass. She had done this before, but that had been with medical droids and a team in a proper medical facility. The bastard was _heavy_! But he still managed to get his feet under himself, leaning little on her smaller frame as she helped him over to the chair she had prepared, a robe draped over the back.

Having worked as a medic since she was young, she was able to pat him dry without blinking. Boba watched her carefully, eyes following her every move. Her gaze met his once, and she blinked, pausing where she was drying one muscular calf. The muscle tensed under her hand, drawing back and away from her touch.

Crouched before him, Ravla sat back on her heels. “Look, I can sedate you and finish this, or you can let me do my job now. Either way, I’m going to help you.” 

She was like every battlefield medic that Boba had ever met, stern and caring to a fault. He didn’t doubt her words for a second. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, and he extended his leg again. She blinked, and then quickly bowed her head back to her task, a flush of color rising on her cheeks.

Curious, Boba watched her a bit longer. She was short, with a plump, curving frame, skin tanned and freckled by the planet’s suns. Her fine, dark hair was pulled back in a crooked knot at the back of her head, flyaways framing her round, soft face. She was younger that he was, but no longer a child. 

Her clothes were simple; an undyed linen wrap-around dress cinched at the waist with a brown sash and worn leather boots. A large scar cut across her cheek and down below her jaw, silvered with age. Delicate silver jewelry climbed the delicate cartilage in both ears, simple and feminine.

She was wearing disposable gloves on her small hands, but Boba could see scars circling both wrists, like someone had put her in binders and done them up far too tight. A pretty little thing, all soft at the edges but not innocent to the darker ways of the world. Whatever had happened to her, she had overcome. When she stood again, she brought a blanket to drape over his lap.

“I’m going to lean in and help you get that robe on,” Ravla said, meeting his eyee. She had felt his careful gaze, and already had him pegged. Soldier type, maybe bounty hunter; always watching his surroundings and trusting no one. She pointed to the robe draped on the chair behind him. “That alright with you?”

With his mind rapidly clearing, Boba thought about it. After forcing himself through the walk from the tank, his limbs felt about as articulate as overcooked noodles, and three times as heavy. Arguing would be pointless, as he didn’t doubt for a moment that the little medic _would_ sedate and dress him without hesitation if he didn’t comply. He offered a curt nod.

Ravla leaned forward, into his space. Her normally calm and clinical ‘medic headspace’ faltered as his gaze lingered on her. How could such dark eyes be so kriffing sharp? It was like they could see anything and everything, as if there was nothing in the world she could ever hide from him. A shiver rolled down her spine, prickling the hair on the back of her neck.

But nothing happened as she helped him ease his arms into the sleeves of the robe, drawing it closed across his chest. Even fresh out of the bacta tank, his skin was startlingly warm, almost enough that she wanted to check for any lingering fever. He was still watching her as she stepped back again, reaching a hand into her pocket.

“I’d like to check your vitals, if you don’t mind,” she said, holding up the small scanner. At least her voice remained calm and even. It had been a long time since she’d been the subject of such unwavering attention, especially from a man like this.

No one would call him beautiful, his face scarred and weathered. But he had a proud, strong jaw, with plush lips and pronounced cheekbones. Handsome, rugged, and strong. And she was more intimately acquainted with his strength than she would like. She had had to rinse the acid and sand from his skin before putting him in the bacta tank, and there had been no place for modesty.

They weren’t the type of muscles built for show, with dangerously low body fat and a narrow waist. Her patient had the body of a warrior, thick and powerful. It was dangerous to keep him like this, she knew, but she couldn’t have just _left_ him there. They could call her a softhearted fool all they wanted, but she didn’t have it in her to be that coldhearted.

If he proved to be a bastard, she had a hypospray in her pocket full of enough sedatives to put down a bantha.

Leaning in again, Ravla clicked the scanner on and hovered it near his temple. She was too close to miss his continued staring out of the corner of her eye. His soldier brain had probably done a threat assessment already, correctly determining that she was no fighter. Other than the hypospray, she had a knife hidden in her boot, but she was far better with a scalpel.

Stepping back and out of his space was like suddenly being able to breathe again after being shut up in a stuffy room, and she let herself sigh as she pondered the scanner read-out. “Everything looks good,” she said at last, looking up. “I don’t know if you remember, but I’m—”

“Ravla Cobor,” Boba said.

To hear her name spoken in that rough, gravelly baritone was startling, and… Unnerving wasn’t the word, but…

“Good,” she said, putting the scanner back in her pocket. “Do you remember your name?” It wasn’t uncommon for extensive physical trauma to cause some amnesia, temporary or otherwise.

Boba considered. There was no clue in the room or in her equipment for what side she might have been on with the rebellion against the Empire. But the last either side had seen of him, he’d been chucked off a sand barge and into a sarlacc pit. Even so, the Rebel Alliance might pay handsomely for his capture.

But this girl was no threat. Even weakened as he was, Boba knew he could subdue her easily. Hell, she might not even know who he was. And even if she did, he had her pegged as too soft to do anything about it unless pressed.

“Boba Fett,” he said at last.

There was no recognition on her face, and she just nodded. “Pleased to meet you again under better circumstances, Mister Fett,” she said. “Now, I’m assuming you’re hungry? Most people are after weeks in bacta.”

Now that she mentioned it, Boba was _starving_. He just nodded.

Ravla smiled. “I only have rations, I’m afraid,” she said, stepping away from him and going over to one of the tables lining the wall. She had to go up on her toes to open the cabinet set into the wall. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You could probably eat three full portions, yeah?” She got another silent nod. “Alright then.”

Neither of them said a word as she set about rehydrating the polystarch in a tray, heaping the veg-meat into another section beside it. She made a half-portion for herself. It was about lunch-time, anyway. She poured water into a couple of mismatched glasses, taking the one with the chipped handle for herself.

“Please don’t drop this,” she said, bringing the cup to Boba before she dragged over a small tray table. “I’m running out of cups.”

Boba took the offered mug and drank deeply. Surprisingly, the water was cool and crisp. He had spent enough time on Tatooine that he had almost gotten used to the dusty taste the water had. She returned with his food, setting the tray down with a fork.

As he tucked wordlessly into the food, he watched Ravla out of the corner of his eye. She had powered up a datapad and was reading through it as she ate her own meal. A thought seemed to occur to her, and she washed down her food with a quick gulp of water.

“Oh! I almost forgot.” She hopped off her stool, padding across the room to a more cluttered table. Bending, Ravla pulled open the drawer. Boba saw her snatch something up, a glint of metal in her hand before she returned to him. Again, she stopped just out of arm’s reach before him, turning the object in her hands. “This was all I could salvage from your things,” she said, moving to set the object on the arm of Boba’s chair.

It was his father’s necklace, the skull of the mythosaur cast in pure beskar. Boba could still remember his father wearing it, though the memories had become fuzzy with time and age. Setting down the fork, he picked the piece up in both hands, turning it carefully in his fingers.

Ravla suddenly felt like she was intruding on something private, and took her tray quickly over to the sink. She gave it a proper wash, rather than going through her usual rinse-now-wash-later routine. When she turned back, Boba had hung the chain around his neck, and she fought to hide a small smile. She was glad there had been something of his to give back to him.

“If you don’t mind my asking…” she began, but quickly stopped as his eyes snapped up to her, hard and sharp. “No, not the necklace. I was just wondering… how you got hurt?” The intensity of his gaze made her want to squirm, and she quickly looked away.

Boba relaxed slightly. She might not believe him, but her reaction would be amusing nonetheless. “Sarlacc,” he said casually, tucking back into his food. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ravla's own go wide, brows furrowing as her mouth dropped open. He chuckled despite himself, the sound lower and scratchier than he remembered. 

Ravla _stared_ , mouth working soundlessly. Had… had she heard him right? Had he really just told her that his horrific injuries were because he’d _survived_ an encounter with a kriffing _sarlacc_?!

“You’re… you’re joking,” she finally managed, still staring at him. He just smirked back, taking another bite of veg-meat. “Oh… you’re not joking.” Just what kind of thrice-cursed, strangely lucky bastard had she brought home? “I… I suppose that makes… sense.”

Boba couldn’t help himself; he laughed. Despite her mind still reeling, Ravla realized it was a pleasant sound; low, rough, and oddly warm. “Pick your jaw up off the floor, princess,” he said.

 _Princess_?!

Ravla’s face went _scarlet_. That rumbling voice combined with the silly little pet name had heat prickling under her skin. He was… Oh, this Boba Fett was _dangerous_ , and it had nothing to do with physical strength or possible nefarious history. That voice was _sin_ , plain and simple. A man could get a lot of things with a voice like that.

Ravla straightened, brushing imaginary dust from her skirts as she turned away. “I’m going to see if I have any clothes that’ll fit you. Try not to move around too much yet, old man.” Fair was fair. But all she got was a wry chuckle as she vanished down the hall.

 _‘Oh, I’m in_ so _much trouble,’_ she thought to herself. 

Despite knowing just how aggravating they could be, Ravla had always had a bit of a thing for the soldier types. She had been skinny in her youth, but an overindulgence in sweet wines and any luxuries she could get her hands on, had left her with a rather plump physique. Big men—and women—like that made her feel small and delicate in a way she never really saw herself as.

She tried to push it all to the back of her mind as she stepped into what had become her storage room. This place had been a supply cache for the Rebel Alliance before she’d made it home, and though they’d taken most of the good stuff, the spare clothes and medical scrubs didn’t seem to have been priority. And since no one had come knocking and demanding anything of her, Ravla had decided that it was hers.

Her rummaging procured several sets of off-white medical scrubs, loose linen tunics, a black robe, a pair of olive drab trousers with far too many pockets, a pair of boots, and a well-worn sweater with several patches sewn in with mismatched yarn.

Hefting her haul into her arms, Ravla dropped it all into an old woven basket. If she tried to just carry it all, she’d end up dropping things and looking a fool. Boba was standing when she returned to the main room, the robe closed and cinched around his waist. He had wandered back over to the bacta tank, examining the control board. He turned when he heard her return.

Of _course_ he had moved, just to spite her.

“There should be something in here that should fit you,” she said, walking over to where she had a screen folded up against the wall. With a grunt of effort, she pulled it out, turning and positioning it so that he could change with some privacy. If he was able enough to wander around, he could change without her help.

Boba found himself watching her as she moved away, collecting his empty food tray and taking it over to the sink. She was very pointedly not looking at him, but with the way she had put up her hair, he could see the flush on the back of her neck. Smirking to himself, he stepped behind the screen, bending to rummage through the basket.

Ravla was able to busy herself with cleaning up. She had to work to keep things neat; she had never been a very organized person, and sometimes she wondered how she had ever managed to survive in the medical field. People had told her that it was because she was naturally caring, ready and willing to help anyone and everyone.

She snorted softly at the memory. They had been right, of course. Ravla had always believed in second chances, and had given the wrong people far too many. But that hadn’t changed her much, even when her kindness had been turned against her. Here she was, alone with what she was quite certain was a _very_ dangerous man. On reflex, her hand slid into her pocket, touching the hypospray.

“You’re telegraphing,” Boba’s voice said, snapping her out of her thoughts and making her whirl around. He was standing barely a meter away from her, adjusting the sleeves of the sweater he had chosen. How had he moved without her hearing?! His eyes lifted to her. “Your boots aren’t any good for hiding that knife of yours, and I don’t think you’d reach for that little scanner if you were feeling nervous.”

Ravla suddenly felt breathless, chest tight with anxiety. Her fingers curled tightly around the hypospray. Words failed her. If this man meant to hurt her, there was probably little she could do. But she still squared her shoulders and glared right back at him.

“If I have to put you back in a coma for the duration of your stay, I will,” she said tightly.

Boba took in her posture and the stubborn set to her jaw. Her feet were spread, shoulders back, gaze unwavering. Her gentle eyes had gone hard, soft mouth set in a firm line. She would fight with everything she had, of that, he had no doubt.

“I’m not looking to take anything from you, little one,” he said simply, and somehow, to Ravla, it seemed like his voice softened. “And besides,” he shrugged, “I doubt I’m out of the woods yet.” 

Ravla blinked, thrown off by the quick return to the medical. Slowly, she let go of the hypospray, making a mental note to find a less obvious way of having it on hand. “No,” she finally said. “Ideally, you’d stay to be treated for another three weeks.”

She moved around him, walking over to one of the shelves. Rising up on her toes, she plucked a large white jar from its spot and turned back. “This will need to be applied once a day, to keep the scarring from tightening up your skin too much.” She didn’t flinch when Boba came over, taking the jar from her hands to examine.

But she knew what she was going to have to say next, and that it would just make her blush again. She hoped that her time under the suns of Tatooine had made it harder to tell when her cheeks flushed with color.

“The worst of it is on your back and arms, though it should be applied to wherever there’s new scarring,” she said, forging ahead and thanking the Maker for her training. It kept her voice even and calm. “I’m sure you can apply it to your arms yourself, but I’d feel more comfortable if you let me apply it to your back for you.”

She was _definitely_ not thinking about what that would be like, him sitting shirtless before her while she massaged the salve into his warm brown skin.

The poor girl really was terrible at hiding her feelings. Though, Boba supposed all that calm she was used to calling on was better suited to a bloody operating room, or perhaps a triage unit on the battlefield. But here, he saw her eyes linger just a little too long on the slope of his shoulders and his chest, before snapping up to lock stubbornly with his again.

Well… wasn’t that just _precious_.


	2. Test of Skill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF GREVIOUS WOUND TO A MINOR!
> 
> Boba and Ravla still circle one another, each uncertain of what to think of the other. And then trouble literally comes knocking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two! Please please please let me know what you think! The comments I've been getting on the story and Ravla have been so heartwarming!

Ravla busied herself in preparing a room for her guest. She had given Boba a datapad with the most current news (it was at least two weeks out of date). There was plenty of information that would be new to him still, what with the destruction of the Empire’s _second_ Death Star. Everyone was apparently celebrating like it was the end of the Empire, like the Imps would just fade away into nothing.

She knew better. And from what she remembered, the Rebel Alliance had been far from perfect. Big changes like this usually meant little for those just trying to get by like her. She made just enough tending to the ills of a few local settlements, plus a few old smuggling contacts that kept her supplied.

As she turned down the bed with clean sheets, she found herself wondering what side Boba might have been on, if any. For all she had pegged him as the ‘soldier type’, he didn’t strike her as actual military. He couldn’t have been a Stormtrooper; they would never have survived what he had. Maybe a bounty hunter then. They were more varied, spread across all corners of the proverbial moral compass.

If she had to guess, she would peg him as indifferent to sides in a large-scale conflict, doing what he could for his own ends. No shame in that. Empires would rise and fall, but people still had to earn credits. She shook her head; what would she gain by thinking about him so much? Nothing, that’s what.

Well, there were _some_ pleasing things to—

No.

With a huff, Ravla turned on her heel, shutting off the room’s single lamp and going back to the hall. Returning to the main room, she found Boba sitting at the table—shirtless—rubbing the salve over his arms. He had taken over one of the high metal stools she had. It took everything she had not to stop dead in her tracks at the sight of him, moving to the counter to pick up her glass of water and taking a long drink.

It afforded her a moment with her back to him, to twist her whirling thoughts around her hand and shove them down down _down_. She was a _good_ medic, and didn’t get distracted, dammit!

“If anything feels particularly raw or tender, let me know,” she said, setting the cup back on the counter. “I have some bacta patches that should help.”

Boba grunted. Everything felt a bit tender, if he was honest, like he was in the end stages of healing a bad sunburn. There probably _had_ been sunburn, now that he thought about it. With his armor stolen—just the thought had started an undercurrent of restless anger—he’d had no protection from the sun or sand. He was lucky his skin hadn’t peeled off completely.

Ravla walked over to the shelf, sparing Boba one last look. She didn’t exactly _need_ to wear gloves with him anymore. There hadn’t been any open wounds or sores left when he came out of the tank, so his risk of infection was extremely low. But with the way he was affecting her, the barrier was more for her sake than for her patient’s.

Slowly, she drifted back over to him, keeping her eyes on his hands. There was a faint shine from wrist to shoulder on one arm, and he was halfway up the other with the salve. Well, there wasn’t any point in dithering around and drawing more attention to herself. Silently, she scooped a dollop of the thick salve into her hands, rubbing it between her palms.

She felt Boba’s eyes track her as she moved behind him where he sat on the stool. He probably didn’t like having people he didn’t know at his back, no matter how little of a threat they were. Taking a breath, she let it out in a slow exhale. Boba felt it against his skin, and then a strange… tingling? 

Oh, right. Goosebumps probably felt different when your body was so scarred that it had burned away the hair follicles.

If the girl noticed, she didn’t let on, her hands settling carefully between his shoulder blades. When there was no negative reaction, Ravla started to move her hands in slow, firm circles. The whorls of scar tissue had warped his skin in all directions, still a shade pinker than the warm, light brown of his skin. Hopefully, they would fade and silver like the other, older scars that she had seen.

Even _with_ the gloves, she could feel the warmth of him. Maybe it was just because her hands were always colder than the rest of her, but the heat of him felt… nice. With his back to her, Ravla allowed herself a smile at her own expense. She was so starved for human contact, that she actually felt some modicum of personal contentment tending to her patient.

She was well on her way to becoming one of those crazy hermits, whispered about in cantinas or at the scrap exchange. She snorted softly and shook her head, leaning over and reaching around Boba for more salve. To her surprise, he was already holding out to her.

“Something funny, little one?” he asked, voice wry and slightly… curious?

_Again_ with the pet names? It was like he already knew how things like that turned her insides to jelly, her body going warm and soft. _Especially_ with a voice like his, all desert rough and sharp… Low enough to rumble up through his chest, catching like velvet and gravel in the back of his throat…

_‘No, Ravla. Stop it.’_

“Nothing important,” she replied, scooping out more of the salve. Well, it wasn’t _nothing_ , but it certainly wasn’t _important_ , either. The act wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as she’d anticipated. Instead, it was… calming. The repetitive motion of rubbing the salve into his skin was calming, the quiet, strange intimacy of the act putting her a bit more at ease.

As she worked her way down his back, she noticed a deeply puckered line of scarring, showing on one of the few places that the acid had left untouched. It wasn’t from the sarlacc. “Did… did you lose a kidney?” she heard herself ask, careful fingers tracing the line.

Boba had too many scars to remember all of them, but _that_ particular souvenir had a bit of a story. “Rancor,” he supplied, beginning to work the salve into his chest. 

Ravla made a rather ugly, startled sound behind him, pausing in her work to stare at the back of his head. “Just… ‘rancor’?” she said. “What, just like, ‘sarlacc’?” There had to be more to it than that. Surviving a rancor with just a single—albeit severe—scar was practically unheard of.

“Someone wanted a baby as a pet,” Boba said with a shrug. “The mother objected.”

She _felt_ the ripple of muscle under her hands with the motion, and an answering little shiver rolled down her spine. “I can imagine,” she answered dryly. “You have certainly led a colorful life, Mister Fett.”

Boba snorted. “’Colorful’…” he mused. “Mmm. That’s not a word anyone has used before.”

Despite the color in her cheeks, Ravla smiled. “Would ‘bloody’ be better? Eventful? Dangerous? Harrowing? Perilous? Hazardous?”

“Wordy little brat, aren’t you?” he remarked, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk.

The smirk—sent over the slope of his bare shoulder—had a shiver racing down her spine, goosebumps prickling down her arms as her stomach swooped. To cover it, Ravla rolled her eyes. “I’m not a kid,” she shot back. “And people don’t usually care _what_ I am, so long as I put them back together the right way.”

“You’re what, twenty?” he scoffed.

Kriff, was that really how she looked to him? Some bright-eyed, innocent young thing running around in the desert on hope and a prayer?

“Twenty- _seven_ , thank you,” she corrected, smoothing her palms flat along the back of his ribs. 

Blinking, Boba turned again, studying her face out of the corner of his eye. She still looked young to his keen eye. If he’d had time to observe her closely, he might have seen the fine lines beginning to show at the corners of her eyes. But her head was tilted down, either oblivious to his stare or pointedly refusing to meet it. Either way, she was still more than a decade younger than him, even if she wasn’t a child. 

“And how old are _you_ , _old man_?” Her soft voice had an edge of mirth to it now, bolder, and she lingered on the last phrase pointedly, a verbal poke to the ribs.

“Old enough to know you don’t have to be _old_ to be good at something,” he replied.

Had… Had that been a _compliment_? When his head turned away, Ravla narrowed her eyes at his back, thinking. He was… surprisingly easy to talk to. And it would be a lie if she said she didn’t like his voice. If she was honest with herself, she could have listened to him read off a dozen medical reports and listened contentedly.

She was getting down to his lower back, and her smile faded when she encountered a knot. She prodded it gently, and heard the soft hiss of a quick inhale. “Hurts?” she asked.

Boba was a bit taken aback by the genuine concern in her voice, the way she shifted from trading barbs to worry. “Casualty of the profession,” he said easily. His back had been giving him trouble for the last few years, before the sarlacc. 

“I can give you some muscle relaxers,” Ravla offered. “If you don’t want more medication, I can probably work it out for you myself.”

An astute guess on her part. Boba didn’t take medication if he could avoid it; one bad bout of adverse side effects could ruin a job. “Go ahead,” he replied. He had finished with the salve on his arms and front, and took a breath to relax himself, hands resting lightly on his knees.

Well… alright then. She was going to give this very intimidating, ruggedly handsome man a brief massage. “Try to stay relaxed,” she said, feeling around the edges of the knot.

Boba wasn’t exactly taken off guard, but the strength in her small hands was surprising. A short, sharp exhale was all he gave in the way of reaction as she smoothed her thumbs into the knot, pressing down in a slow, rhythmic drag. His back tried to tense up, to shy away from the pain, but a sigh of relief also left him. It felt good. 

In his younger days, he had indulged in pleasures of the flesh of all kinds. Ravla’s massage was far from the most sensual that he had ever received, but it was the most effective by a parsec. With skilled, deft movements, she worked the knot loose, sweeping around the area for any lingering stiffness.

“Better?” she asked, in that same genuine voice. 

She really was sweet as cane sugar, and had absolutely no business being like that around… around someone like him. Fiery as a young she-wolf she might be, but there was no hiding that gentleness. Boba… didn’t exactly know what to do with it, not in this situation. 

In years past, in the rare moments he’d been idle, he might have delighted in teasing such people. He wasn’t oblivious to the effect he had on people, in multiple and various ways. And he had taken smug, quiet pride in teasing the shy, sweet ones until they blushed.

But that had been some time ago. And now… Well, he wasn’t sure that he was the same man as he’d been then. Older, certainly, and maybe a little wiser. And it had never been wise to piss off the medics. It was as much a rule as ‘don’t feed a stray tooka or it’ll never leave’. You didn’t fuck with the people you might one day need to put you back together.

This girl was a juxtaposition of soft and fierce. Perhaps it was her genuine concern for his long-term well-being. Boba had sought healers before, when there was a wound he wasn’t able to manage on his own. They had patched him up, taken his credits, and that had been that.

_This_ little one… had taken him into her own home. Put time, effort, and resources into his care. Boba didn’t know what to do with that, with that barefaced honesty. Didn’t know what to do with such selflessness directed at _him_. He disliked the ill-at-ease feeling it gave him. Shaking out of his thoughts, he nodded, rolling his shoulders in a stretch.

“Good.” Ravla stepped back, carefully staying out of arm’s reach as she moved around Boba again. 

Well, she wasn’t _stupid_ , that was for certain. She skirted the strange, dangerous man in her home like a timid herd animal, watching him closely as she went about her day. But she wasn’t… flighty, really. Just careful.

“Alright,” Ravla said, snapping off her gloves and depositing them in the trash. “I have the spare room made up for you. Found a few more things that should work for clothes. There’s a sonic shower, and an allotment for five minutes of water a day. We can alternate.” 

She paused, trying to blow a particularly long whisp of hair out of her face. When it failed, she reached back with a grumble, tugging her hair out of its tie. Slipping the elastic around her wrist, she shook out the length of it. It hung just past her shoulders, fluffy and waved from prolonged confinement. 

Gathering her hair up again, Ravla was just about to continue speaking, when heavy metallic pounding shattered the quiet, making both of them jump. Distant shouting was coming from further in the structure, and Ravla took off at a run, finishing her bun as she went.

“Stay here!” she called over her shoulder.

Boba ignored her, his longer strides quickly catching him up with her as she scurried down another long hallway, the incline slowly rising. It opened up into another round, white room, with six mis-matched chairs up against the walls. A small cluster of cacti sat on a table with a couple of actual, honest-to-Maker hard-copy books.

A waiting room.

Ravla threw open the door, a woman half falling through, a bloody scrape bleeding sluggishly down her cheek. She was dragging another person with her; a long-limbed, gangly boy. Ravla knew them both; Mira and her son Ves. Mira was a moisture farmer, and Ves—her oldest—was barely thirteen, despite his height. Mira was holding her son’s side, a blood-soaked wad of cloth pressed to his abdomen.

“Dank _Farrik_ , Mira! What happened?” Ravla ducked under Ves’s other arm, helping Mira take his weight, starting back towards the hallway. She started at the sight of Boba. “Fucks _sake_!” she cursed. “If you’re not going to help, _move_!”

That was a _soldier’s_ voice, a barking command that touched on some ancient, instinctual part of Boba’s training that had him quickly sidestepping. It had been a long time since he’d felt so wildly out of place, and even longer since he’d jumped to obey anyone but himself. 

The two women got about half-a-dozen steps before the boy cried out, the sound choking off into a wet, hacking cough. Blood spattered the floor in front of him, and Ravla’s chest went tight. “Fuck, hang on!” 

With a grunt of effort, she swept Ves’s legs up in one arm, her other going round his back as she took off at a sprint for the back room. Mira spared Boba a tearful, confused glance, and then she was following. Ravla nodded to the first table she came to. 

“Mira, clear that off! Dump it right on the floor!”

The tearful woman scrambled to obey, and Ravla spread Ves out on his back on the cleared metal surface. She ripped open his shirt, swearing under her breath. A deep gash had been sliced across his abdomen, bleeding heavily. 

“Hold him down, Mira, I need to see if any bones are broken.”

Ves cried out weekly as his mother pushed down on his shoulders, and Ravla laid her hands out on either side of the gash. If it was a broken rib that had punctured his lung, she wasn’t going to be able to do anything for him. A well of blood made her fingers slippery, but it was slow enough that she didn’t think any other major organs had been hit.

When there was no creak of broken bone, Ravla tore away from Ves, rushing over—and nearly crashing into—one of the shelves. She left smears of bloody fingerprints behind as she yanked open one of the boxes. With a thick syringe in hand, she raced back over as she yanked the plastic packaging open.

At Ves’s side again, she hesitated, eyes flicking up to Boba. “You need to hold his legs,” she said, voice tight with anxiety. “Please, Boba.”

It was the ‘please’ that caught him. He couldn’t remember someone had said ‘please’ to him and meant it, instead of begging for their life or freedom. And looking down at the boy…

“Now, please!” Her voice was urgent, and she _was_ begging this time, poising the thick needle over the boy’s chest. A large, warm body stepped in beside her, pinning the boy’s hip with one hand, and flattening the other arm over his knees. “Thank you,” Ravla breathed, and plunged the needle down.

The E-bacta depressed instantly, and Ves arched, his back peeling up off the table as every muscle in his body seized tight. Ravla put her own weight into holding him down, trying not to bite down on her own tongue as he began to shake. Mira was crying again, terrified. On her right, Boba’s arm jostled her shoulder, and she chanced a glance at him.

He was looking at her, something unreadable on the scarred plains of his face. Then Ves was going slack, sucking in a stuttering gasp. Another breath, wheezing and sharp. Then the wound began to _bubble_ between Ravla’s hands, blood and clear fluid oozing to drip out and over his ribs.

“Miss Ravla?” Mira quavered, voice still high with worry.

“This means it’s working,” Ravla assured her, taking a step back. Ves was already starting to breathe easier. “Some of his nerves might be dead, but he should get full functionality of the lung back.”

Blood had covered her hands and smeared up her forearms, a few spots smudged into the front of her dress. “Dank farrik,” she muttered under her breath, walking over to the sink. “Should just have shelled out the credits for the black fabric…”

Stepping back out of the way, Boba let his eyes trail after her. Her gait was quick and precise, shoulders back. She wasn’t moving like a nervous animal, completely in her element. Not once did she flinch at the blood and gore, more concerned for her _laundry_ now that her patient was stabilizing.

In profile, her face was calm as could be, brows slightly furrowed as she scrubbed her hands and arms with soap. Not a flicker of pain or panic, the urgency gone. There was a strength there. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen wounds like that. 

She hadn’t blinked, acting only with concern for the wounded. It was the same she’d done for him, Boba realized. She’d seen someone in trouble, someone hurting, and had jumped right in to help, consequences be damned. It wasn’t operation room experience that had given her those nerves of steel. Boba knew the type. She moved like a military medic, quick and calm, cool under pressure.

The hair on the back of Ravla’s neck prickled, and she lifted her head. He was looking at her again. The smirk curling one corner of his mouth was almost… knowing. She was becoming more and more certain that he had been a _bounty hunter_. You didn’t see that kind of intelligence in your average soldier.

She could feel a flush creeping up her neck again, and she dried her hands before moving briskly over for a set of gloves. Ves would be fine, but there was still clean up to do. As she worked, she could feel Boba’s eyes on her, silently watching her every move. 

It had been a long time since she had been the focus of anyone’s undivided attention, and never one that she could feel tickling at the instinctual animal fear in the back of her brain. But it was more than that. She’d been in enemy crosshairs before; she knew what it felt like to be looked at as prey, and this wasn’t it.

This was… curious. Appraising. Even maybe a little bit amused.

Ravla didn’t know what to do with that. But he had helped. He had stepped in when she’d asked him to. He’d had nothing to gain, no reason to care about the boy or what happened to him. And still, Boba Fett had done as she’d asked. A small smile curved her own lips.

“Thank you,” she said as she walked past, pointedly meeting his eyes and giving him a nod. If he was as smart as she thought he was, he’d see how genuinely she meant it.


	3. Bloody Sands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go very, very wrong. But as it turns out, it's pretty useful to have a bounty hunter around.

A few hours later, Boba was examining his room. It was small and simple; a bed, a desk, a chair, a lamp, and a small dresser. A small cactus with a single blooming flower sat at the edge of the desk. He was far more used to the towering spiny monsters of the desert, and one or two species that bore edible fruit.

This delicate thing was unfamiliar, a splash of color in the otherwise pale and featureless room. He brushed a finger gently over the small pink flower. Effort had been put into its care, nurturing enough to bloom. It was a painfully kind touch, a genuine effort to make the room more comfortable.

A knock came at the door. “Boba, do you have a minute?” Ravla’s voice.

“Come in,” he called, turning to face the door as he stayed by the desk.

The door slid open, and Ravla leaned in. She had changed clothes, dressed in loose linen trousers tucked into her boots and wrapped to keep out the sand. Her tunic was much the same, the loose sleeves gathered and tucked into a set of gloves. A wide sash accentuated the swell of her hips and chest, a scarf covering her head and neck.

“I’m taking Mira and Ves back in my speeder,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “If there’s trouble…” She trailed off, biting her lip for a moment, as if in hesitation. She tossed him something, and Boba caught it out of reflex. “That’s the key to my room, at the end of this hall. If there’s trouble, I have a blaster rifle under the bed.”

Boba blinked down at the little stick of code, then back up at the healer. Her eyes locked back onto his, chest rising with a deep breath. She was handing him her trust, and hoping that he didn’t betray it. To think of someone taking such a leap of faith on him… More that Boba didn’t know what to do with.

“I’ll know if you use it, and I’d rather you didn’t go poking around without reason,” Ravla said, a bit of sternness creeping into her voice. “I should be back by nightfall. If something happens, you can raise me on the set back in the lab.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, down towards the room where the bacta tank was.

His expression was unreadable, but he nodded, slipping the key into his pocket. They stood in silence for a few moments, Ravla just watching him, looking for any sign of… well… _anything_. He would probably be tired, and she didn’t _think_ he would go poking around or getting into any trouble. But she still didn’t like leaving him here. But she wasn’t about to take him out with her either. He still needed to _rest_ , dammit. 

Ravla didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked down, taking in her new clothes. Maker, every time he looked at her with those eyes—such a dark brown they were black in the right light—she felt that tingling, magnetic attraction. It was foolish, naturally, and she knew it. But it didn’t stop the way she reacted to him, and she finally offered a shy smile.

“Get some rest, old man,” she said, stepping back out into the hall.

The door slid closed behind her, and she was gone.

000

Everything had gone great. It had been _fine_.

Ravla had brought Ves and Mira home without incident, helping Mira to lay Ves up in bed while his siblings clamored in the hallway. She left the mother with a small bottle of painkillers just in case, and Mira pressed three gallons of water on her as payment. Ravla had tried to refuse politely, but the older woman wouldn’t hear of it.

So Ravla had set off in her speeder with the water in the seat beside her. It was a fair distance back to her home, about an hour by speeder. The suns were dipping towards the horizon, coloring the sky in crimson and orange. She smiled to herself, taking a moment to enjoy the view. But she had to look down again, coming up on the canyon that took up most of the route home.

The area wasn’t known for raiders, and there hadn’t been a rockfall here in years. So she didn’t think twice about starting through it, the lights from her speeder throwing swift shadows across the stony walls of the canyon. It was a peaceful drive, and she relaxed back in her seat. She knew the route by heart now, but she could feel the fatigue of the day settling in. By the time she reached the rock formation that meant that she was almost out of the canyon, her eyes were beginning to droop.

She was lucky that she saw the net at all.

The interwoven druasteel cables stretched the full length of the narrow mouth of the canyon, and she slammed on the breaks to avoid the barrier. She was wide awake now. “Oh, _fu—_!”

With an echoing snarl, a tusken raider dropped from above, slamming into the passenger seat, snarling as it raised its gaffi stick over its head.

“Shit!”

Ravla threw the speeder into reverse, and slammed the accelerator, the sudden motion toppling the raider off into the sand. She shifted gears and put the pedal to the floor, lunging forward again. She hoped that the net wasn’t too securely fixed. It was a stupid move; reckless, ill-advised, but _desperate_. If she could get up enough speed to force through the net, she could probably make it back home in time.

Raiders were _never_ out here. No steady supply trains or real settlements to raid. On the outside, her own home appeared as just another abandoned farmhouse, the real building hidden underground. This wasn’t supposed to happen! She was supposed to be _safe_ out here, dammit!

In her peripheral, she could see other raiders, their cries echoing off the walls of the canyon. She didn’t stop, hunching low as she neared the net. The speeder shook with the impact, the net coming down hard across the top. Ravla felt the blow to her head and her vision went white with pain. But the speeder was still moving, tearing away from the net.

With blood dripping into one eye, and the world swimming around her, Ravla kept her foot to the floor, trying desperately to focus on the little speck of light she knew to be her home. Something was rattling and there might have been smoke coming from the speeder. But her vision was so blurry that she couldn’t really be sure.

Closer… closer…

Almost there…

Then she realized that the speeder was slowing down, the engine sputtering and finally dying. Ravla cursed, head spinning as she clambered out. She fell hard into the sand, the fall knocking the breath out of her. 

More tusken screaming.

“C’mon,” she growled to herself. “ _Move_!”

Somehow, she managed to get her feet under her again, lurching to her feet. Running _hurt_ , each jostling step making her head pound. She could feel herself fading, some distant part of her thinking it was probably the blood loss, or maybe her head had been hit harder than she thought.

Pain lit up in her shoulder, a bolt of red light shooting past her. Ravla crumpled with a scream, clutching the blaster burn. She started to crawl, pushing herself through the sand and trying to get up on her knees. Another shot hit the back of her thigh, and her scream was just as much rage as it was pain.

Then a shadow detached from the building ahead, the figure briefly illuminated by the single tiny light outside. Had they gotten to her home already? Was Boba…?

But the darkness was eating at the corners of her vision, and she realized that she wasn’t moving anymore. As she slipped away, Ravla was distinctly aware of a red blaster bolt shooting past her. But this time, it came from the opposite direction, firing over her and into the raiders.

000

Boba didn’t have his helmet. Didn’t have his night vision or heat signature filters. He didn’t have his armor or his weapons.

But tools weren’t everything. Just having a fancy weapon didn’t mean shit when it came to skill.

He had opened Ravla’s room anyways, without any need. He had taken apart and cleaned the blaster rifle, reasoning it would be far better to be _sure_ that it functioned rather than trying to take care of something with a faulty weapon. 

The raiders were only a few meters behind where Ravla had fallen, her small body crumpled in the sand. Their own cycler shots lit them up fine, and it was those brief flashes of light that Boba used to pick them off. One, two, three… Six of them went down before the others stopped advancing. 

Boba kept going, still firing. The other raiders had ducked down behind the disable speeder, but they weren’t firing. Eyes still on them, Boba knelt and put a finger to Ravla’s neck. Her pulse was strong, even as she lay unmoving, blood darkening her headscarf and making it stick to the side of her head.

Two bold raiders charged, one with a tusken cycler and the other with a gaffi stick. Boba took the one with the rifle first, ducking out of the way as the other swung wildly at him. The skin of his back pulled painfully at his quick side-step, and he ducked around the raider, shooting it in the back.

Silence descended.

Boba turned, rifle leveled. The speeder was abandoned, the remaining tuskens with their backs to him in a hasty retreat. It was a simple matter to pick them off at a distance. Slinging the rifle strap over his shoulder, Boba bent, turning Ravla carefully onto her back.

Her eyes flickered open, wild and unfocused as her body jerked, still full of panic and pain. “Easy there, little one,” he murmured, gathering her into his arms. 

“Boba?” Her voice was a muddled rasp, words slurred as her head fell back on his shoulder. “Good… yer alright…” Her eyes fluttered again, and she whimpered softly as her face contorted in pain.

Maker help this foolish, kindhearted girl. She’d been fucking _shot_ , chased by raiders for Maker knew how long, and had been busy worrying about him. “Don’t worry about me, silly girl,” he muttered, turning sideways to carry her through the door and into the waiting room.

Down the sloping hallway he went, his arms tightening slightly when she whimpered again, one hand lifting towards the burn on the side of her arm. It wasn’t bad, from what he could see, just as surface burn. It was the cut on her scalp and the burn he could feel on the back of her thigh that had him concerned.

Oh.

He was actually… concerned about another person.

He almost slowed down, looking at the woman in his arms. This… this was new. The last time he’d been genuinely concerned about the wellbeing of another person—outside of a bounty who was wanted alive—was… Had it really been that long? All those decades ago in childhood?

Ravla’s eyes finally focused as Boba turned sideways to carrying her into the lab. The focus brought her senses to bear, and she snarled, body seizing with pain. Right. Blaster shot. Looking down, she didn’t see and exit wound on the front of her leg; okay, that was good, her femur was probably still intact.

“Bacta spray,” she grit out, and Boba’s face snapped back down to her. “It’s on the shelf… third from the bottom… red tray.” She spoke through clenched teeth, holding onto consciousness through sheer force of will. There was no way of knowing what kind of medical training he had, if any.

Instead of setting her down on the exam table like she’d expected, he just hauled her over to the shelf, grabbing the tray as he crouched, one arm still around her back for support. Her vision swam briefly, and when it cleared, Boba was ripping into the spray packaging with his teeth.

Shifting his stance, Boba sat her back against his knee, using his free hand to rip back her headscarf and part her blood-matted hair. Like all headwounds, it was still bleeding heavily, and it was the work of a moment to layer on the thick, gel-like spray. Then he was moving behind her, putting Ravla’s back against his chest as he ripped at her sleeve. The whole thing came away, sagging down to her elbow.

“Dank _farrik_!” Ravla hissed, squeezing her eyes shut at the same cold spray covered her bicep. The pain was already ebbing. “Empty that kriffing thing in the back of my leg.”

Holding the spray between his teeth, Boba moved her again, laying her out on the floor on her side, head on his thigh. Ripping open the back of her trousers, he sucked a breath through his teeth at the red, angry burn, flesh charred around the edges. He had to brace a hand on her thigh, and Ravla jerked, his warm hand feeling scorching near the wound. When the nozzle was jammed into the wound, she snarled, turning instinctively and biting down on his thigh to muffle the scream.

Boba didn’t even flinch, depressing the sprayer until the can sputtered on empty. Ravla’s body was rigid and trembling in his lap, face still buried in his leg and her knuckles white where the gripped at his trousers. Boba could feel the pulsing ache of where she had bitten him, replaced now by her hot, ragged breathing.

Reaching out, Boba pulled her hair out of her face, cupping the opposite cheek and turning her slowly onto her back. “Eyes up here.” Ravla complied, blinking away tears. The hand on her cheek was rough with callouses, almost too warm. But it was grounding, and she let out a shaking breath as she looked up at him.

“That… shouldn’a happened,” she mumbled, letting herself sag into the solidness of Boba’s leg. “They’re never… never out here.” Putting an arm around her back, Boba eased her into a sitting position, hand lingering as she curled forward on herself with a groan. “I’m guessing…” A heavy sigh, her hand carding through her hair. “I’m guessing there’s… bodies outside.”

Boba snorted quietly. “Pragmatic little thing, aren’t you?”

As the pain continued to fade, Ravla was suddenly intensely aware of his hand on her back, her side still leaning up against his chest. Warmth crept weekly into her cheeks, but she didn’t move. The closeness felt… it felt good. It was as if he had put his body between her and the rest of the world. She felt… safe. It was such a warm feeling.

Maybe it was the blood loss, but she let herself sag into him, turning her face into his chest. She felt so safe like this, the panic and fear that had chased her home already a fading memory. Ravla couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so safe around another person. She had been her own protection for years now, depending only on herself.

It felt nice to forget all that for a moment, to bask in the care that this near stranger had given her. Against the wool of his borrowed sweater, Ravla allowed herself a quick, blushing smile. His hand shifted on her back, but didn’t pull away, the warmth of his palm bleeding through her clothes. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, eyes starting to droop. She sighed deeply, shoulders sagging into him. This was nice.

“Can’t sleep on the floor,” Boba muttered, touching her shoulder.

Ravla grumbled sleepily, keeping her face hidden in his chest. “’M comfy,” she mumbled reproachfully. Yeah, she sounded like a whiney brat.

Staring down at the top of her head, Boba snorted. “Yeah, well _I’m_ not.” He’d gotten to the point in life where sleeping on the cold, hard floor was no longer something he could shake off upon waking. As nice as it was to have a soft, willing woman cuddling into him, he wasn’t about to stay on the floor.

Wrapping his arm around her back, Boba got his feet under him and stood, pulling Ravla with him. Even though she grumbled in protest, she did her best to get her feet under her. The moment she tried to step away, Boba felt her legs give out. With a sigh, he stooped, putting his other arm under her knees and hefting her into his arms again. The motion brought Ravla back to wakefulness for a moment, and a flush of embarrassment colored her cheeks.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

Boba just chuckled, smirking to himself. He wasn’t complaining about the cuddling, he just wasn’t about to do it on the floor. He carried her out of the lab and down the other hallway. The door to her room was still unlocked, and opened when he nudged the keypad with his elbow. Ravla realized he was carrying her over to the bed.

“Wait,” she mumbled, tugging at his shirt. “Don’ want sand in the bed.”

“Whatever you say, princess,” Boba huffed, but there was no malice in it. Again, the pet name in his rough baritone made her want to squirm, but she held still as he steered her over to the battered armchair she had stuffed in a corner of the room. He eased Ravla down gently, drawing back to stand before her.

Careful of her shoulder, she sagged back into the chair as she tugged off her gloves and let them drop to the floor. Her limbs felt as if they’d been filled with lead, a dull throb still present in her thigh. Lifting a hand, She gestured at the dresser.

“Bottom… bottom drawer,” she said. “Should be… should be a sleep shirt in there. Green one.” Boba made a half-hearted noise of exasperation, but turned to do as she asked. “S-sorry ‘bout all this.”

“You shouldn’t travel alone,” was all he said, crouching and rummaging through the drawer. The only green he found was an oversized, careworn t-shirt, the same color as his trousers. The girl would be swimming in it. 

Ravla winced. She knew he was right, and she _didn’t_ usually. “Mira got a ride here, but couldn’ get one back,” she muttered, tugging at her sash weakly. “Wasn’ gonna make her carry Ves all the way home…” She muttered an inaudible curse, half tempted to ask for scissors to cut the damn sash off.

Boba watched her struggle for a moment, her visible frustration mounting. She would be all night at this, and needed to rest if she was going to be of any further use to him. “Here.” He bent down, knee protesting as he crouched on one. Out of the corner of his eye, Boba saw the flush darkening Ravla’s cheeks as he undid the knot with a few deft tugs, unwinding it from her middle. He saw what she meant by the sand, a fine layer dropping from the fabric to her chair.

“Thanks,” Ravla muttered, pointedly looking away as she tugged the sleep shirt over her head. Boba bent and undid her leg wrappings with the same pragmatic motions, tugging off her boots. Another small shower of sand fell to the floor.

Under the oversized sleep shirt, Ravla peeled open her tunic and undid the clasp of her bra, squirming out of both and pulling them out to drop on the floor. The new shirt sagged to the side, exposing one freckled shoulder. Boba got a glimpse of scars curving over her shoulder and onto her back as she pushed herself to stand, keeping most of her weight off one leg.

She wasn’t about to get into bed with her sandy trousers, but she _also_ didn’t think she had the strength to stand Boba helping her with that, too. But she wasn’t going to really be able to do it with the way her leg was still feeling. “I… Can I lean on you?” she mumbled, eyes still staring at the floor. “Th’ pants… need t’ come off…”

She was swaying on her feet, and might fall over even if she _was_ using him for support. But if she wanted to do it this way, that was fine by him. “Go on, then.”

Still looking down, Ravla used her good arm to grip Boba’s shoulder, reaching down with the other to tug at the waistband of her trousers. Thankfully, the garment cooperated, coming down her hips and dropping to the floor. “Okay,” she breathed. “Bedtime.”

But Boba didn’t let her push away from him, turning to slip an arm under hers and wrap around her ribs. Her surprised squeak was downright adorable, but he kept his smirk to himself as he walked her over to the bed. She dropped down like a sack of meiloorun fruit, muttering a string of curses as she wiggled carefully under the blankets.

The moment her head dropped onto the pillow, she could feel herself slipping away. Lifting her head a bit, she blinked until she was looking Boba in the eye. “Thank you,” she said earnestly. “I don’t… I don’t wanna think about what woulda happened if… if you weren’t there.” Her head dropped, and she was only dimly aware of Boba saying something before she slipped away at last.


	4. Soft and Sharp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad dreams, and an unusual way of dealing with them. Jawas make the day worse, but then drinking makes it better. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I'm making good on the sexual tension tag in this chapter... so, uh... enjoy! (I also realized after this that tusken cycler rifles are actually slugthrowers, so we'll just pretend they had a blaster rifle)

_Fear._

_It was all she could feel. She tried to run, but her feet just sunk deeper into the sand with every step._

_Snarling behind her. A hand on her throat, pushing her down._

_The sand swallowed her screams, her limbs leaden and useless…_

“Hey! Hey!”

Ravla startled awake in the dark, sitting bolt upright with her wrists held in two strong hands to still her flailing. Panic surged anew, and she cried out, trying to back away.

A warm, rough hand cupped the side of her face, the voice coming out of the dark gentle and slow. “Easy there, little one.”

Oh… that voice. Ravla sagged, eyes fluttering closed as she let out slow, trembling breath. It was Boba, the edge of her bed dipping with his weight. She turned head towards his hand, leaning into the calming touch. “’M sorry,” she muttered, arm dropping when he released her. “Bad dream.” It was an effort not to whine as his hand left her face, and he settled to sit on the edge of the bed.

A sudden wash of embarrassment rolled through her. She was supposed to be the one taking care of _him_ , and now here he was, having to comfort her because of something as silly as a nightmare. Her cheeks heated, and she glared down at her hands, twisting them in her lap.

“I _am_ sorry,” she said again, lifting her head to look at him. Without any lights or windows, he was barely a shadow, a spot of human-shaped darkness sitting there with her. And yet all the lingering fear from the nightmare had just dropped away. “I don’t… didn’t mean to bother you.”

It was a genuine apology. She was deeply embarrassed by her actions, everything laid bare in the tone of her voice and the slouch of her shoulders. It… softened something in Boba. The way she had relaxed when she realized it was him was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He was used to people reacting with violence and fear when they realized it was him in the room with them.

But not this girl. She was just sorry that she had disturbed him, but still glad for the comfort of his touch.

Boba was no stranger to nightmares. The life he’d chosen had given his mind no shortage to choose from when it came to bad dreams. How many times had he awoken on his ship, breathing hard and covered in a cold sweat?

He didn’t… He didn’t want her to feel bad, he realized. He _liked_ the way she relaxed into him, trusted him when she was at her most vulnerable. It was new, and strange, wholly like anything else he had experienced. Unmasked, he was just a man to her, someone that had saved her from pain and death. Just like she had saved him.

There was no doubt in his mind now. He _was_ getting soft as he got older.

But as Ravla reached out and curled her hand over his, he wasn’t sure that it was really a bad thing.

“Thank you, Boba,” Ravla said, glad for the dark to hide the heat made visible in her cheeks. She felt bold and reckless, reaching out to touch him like this, but she squeezed his hand all the same. “I’m in your debt.”

Boba snorted softly, his head shaking in the dark. He didn’t move his hand. “I’d say this actually just makes us even,” he said.

“I was doing my job—” Ravla began.

“No, you weren’t, little one,” Boba said. Carefully, so as not to startle her, he turned his hand under hers, putting their palms together as his fingers curled between hers. “It wasn’t your job to haul me out of the Dune Sea. I was as good as dead. Anyone else would have just put me out of my misery.” Hell, it was what he would have done, in her position.

Ravla’s heart was _racing_ , acutely aware of the warmth of Boba’s hand, of the way it held hers. “Maybe,” she relented. “But it wasn’t your job to take on an entire tusken raiding party, either.” She felt… almost giddy. She had meant the touch only to impart the sincerity of her thanks. But now he was _holding her hand_ , and she felt like a nervous little girl with her first crush.

When he laughed, her stomach dropped. It was such a lovely sound, low and rough and nearly sinful. “You don’t know _what_ my job is, princess,” he teased, feeling the way her hand twitched against his at the name.

Emboldened by his easy tone, Ravla smiled. “You were a bounty hunter, right?” she said, watching his head turn back to her. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark, and she could see some of the details of his face. The strong, proud nose and jaw, and just a shadow of his lips. “You’re not military, but you’re a fighter, so that only left a few options.”

Astute little thing.

Boba sighed. “You really don’t have any idea who I am, do you?” he murmured.

She blinked. Had she gotten it wrong? No, he was _definitely_ a bounty hunter. “A famous one, then?” she said, finally releasing his hand to sit up properly, hugging her knees up against her chest.

Another rich, deep laugh. “I suppose you could say that.”

“Ah, that means you’re _expensive_. Means I _am_ in your debt after all.” She sounded so damn smug and sure of herself; Boba could picture the smile pulling at her soft mouth, her eyes crinkling.

“You can pay me back with those healing hands of yours, then,” he shot back, not missing the way the shadowed shape of her jolted slightly, as if bending forward to muffle a squeak into her knees.

Oh sweet _Maker_! Ravla was quite certain that her face had gone some shade of scarlet. Did he know what his voice did to her? Let alone what his voice saying _those_ _words_ did? Heat prickled under her skin, a shiver rolling down her spine. She was wide awake now, trying not to broadcast her quickened breathing. And what was she supposed to _say_ to that? 

Boba found himself wishing again for his helmet, just to see the fluctuation of heat in the girl’s cheeks. He smiled to himself in the dark. He wasn’t _that_ different from before, it seemed. A slow curl of heat settled in his chest, a flicker of excitement at being able to fluster her so easily.

“Thank you for this,” she said, breaking him from his thoughts. “I… I can’t even remember the dream now.” Her voice was so soft. Not quiet, but… gentle, maybe happy. The silence that fell was very nearly comfortable. After a few moments, Ravla spoke. “What time is it?” She wasn’t feeling terrible, but her body still felt heavy with fatigue.

“You’ve only been asleep for a few hours. Go back to sleep.”

Ravla huffed a laugh, pushing her legs out in front of her and leaning back on her hands. She stared up at the ceiling. “Too awake for that,” she murmured.

Yes, because resting for barely three hours after being _shot_ was _such_ a good idea. Weakened though he still was, it was easy to slide closer and cup the back of her head in a single fluid motion. He felt her body go tight, a strangled gasp tumbling past her lips.

“You’re going to lay back down,” he murmured, letting his voice dip into a lower register and feeling her _shiver_ under his hand. “And you’re going to rest. Understand, little one?”

Oh.

Oh _fuck_.

Heat rolled down to pulse between Ravla’s legs as she nodded hurriedly.

“Use your words,” Boba pressed, hand sliding to the back of her neck and squeezing gently, feeling the flushed heat of her skin under his palm.

“I’ll get some more rest,” Ravla rushed out, voice high and breathless. 

Boba hummed in approval, thumb rubbing a slow circle at the corner of her jaw. “ _There’s_ a good girl…” His voice was little more than a low rumble, distant thunder barely heard on the horizon. But his words made Ravla _shake_.

Oh, this bastard knew _exactly_ what he was doing. 

His hand slipped away from her, and he rose from the bed. But he didn’t move, just standing there… waiting. With shaking hands, Ravla pulled the blankets back up around her, scooting down to lay down again. The shadow of Boba’s head nodded, and he turned, moving without a sound back into the hall, the door sliding shut behind him.

Ravla waited what she thought was long enough for him to get out of earshot, and rolled over to groan loudly into her pillow. She didn’t have to touch herself to know that she was wet. Just that simple command—nothing even remotely sexual about it—and she was quivering with anticipation. 

The bastard _knew_ , he had to!

She felt hot, needy, and more frustrated than she’d been in _years_. All from just a few words in that sinful baritone and a hand at the back of her neck. Her mind drifted, wondering what it would feel like to have that rough, gun-calloused hand curled around her throat…

Ravla shook her head, rolling sharply onto her other side. How the hell was she supposed to sleep after he’d done _that_? Putting her face into the pillow again, she let out a string of loud, violent curses as she squeezed her thighs together. It didn’t help, it just made it _worse_.

She wanted his hands on her again, bending her to his will, commanding her submission with just a word. Rolling onto her back, she glared at the ceiling, trying to focus enough to calm her breathing. As she did, she realized that she was already drifting again, heat giving way to the comforting dark of slumber.

When she _did_ finally fall asleep again, her dreams were of a much more pleasant nature.

000

Alright, how the hell was she supposed to do this?

Ravla, dressed for the day and still in her room, stared at the back of her door. How the hell was she just supposed to walk out and go about her day as normal after last night?

It wasn’t like anything had really… happened. But the effect it had had on her—and the dreams that followed—was very, _very_ real.

Thankfully, reality offered a cold reminder as she shifted on her feet. A twinge of pain rolled up her thigh, and she winced. Right. Bodies to deal with, and her speeder to haul back. Her passions doused, she stepped out into the hall. The lab was empty when she entered, looking around for Boba. She’d slept later than she’d like, but if he was still resting, that was fine.

He’d had a large number of broken bones, as well as the burns. Honestly, it really was a miracle that he’d lived. Her scans of him had indicated a multitude of old, healed breaks. Colorful life indeed.

Dressed for the heat, Ravla made sure that her headscarf was secure, and stepped outside. 

There was a huge bonfire burning several meters away.

She blinked at it for a moment, brows furrowing in confusion as she stared at the dark plume of smoke climbing towards the sky. Then the wind shifted, and she nearly gagged. Unfortunately, Ravla _knew_ what burning bodies smelled like, but this was a special kind of terrible.

“Kriff, that stinks!” she muttered, pulling her scarf up over her nose and looking around. She nearly jumped out of her skin to see Boba less than a meter to her left, leaning up against the building in the sliver of shade it provided. “Fuck!”

He just laughed at her, a low chuckle as he stood away from the wall. “Sleep well?”

All those embarrassing dreams seemed to evaporate from her mind, replaced by concern and irritation. “Have you seriously been hauling around dead raiders all day?” She stepped closer, looking him over as if for injury. 

Boba took her in. She was dressed much the same as yesterday; pale linen and a protective headscarf. The wind tugged at it, chasing out a few whisps of dark hair to dance around her face. Her eyes were slightly narrowed, soft mouth pressed into a firm line. She was inspecting him closely, as if something in his posture or the way he breathed would give away some new, debilitating injury.

He turned to face her, and Ravla was suddenly intensely aware that the top of her head barely passed his shoulder. “You’re not exactly the picture of health, yourself, princess,” he chuckled, nodded pointedly to her leg. Even with her raised scarf, he saw the quick flush of her cheeks.

Such a soft little creature she was, all kindness and care… But wrapped around a core of durasteel. She was an enigma to him. Strength and kindness in one was the pipe dream of an idealist. And yet it found balance here, in this dusty, dismal corner of the galaxy.

Then her expression softened, eventually breaking out into a smile so sickeningly sweet and genuine that his teeth could have ached. She reached out, laying a gentle hand on his forearm. “Thank you, Boba,” she said.

Genuine, heartfelt gratitude, from a heart as pure as hers seemed to be… Something… _warm_ unfurled in his chest, something gentle. He sidestepped the unknown feeling, even as it lingered, attempting to make itself comfortable within him. “Don’t thank me yet,” he said, walking past her and gesturing for her to follow.

Ravla’s face dropped as he brought her around the corner of the building. In the shack where she usually kept the thing parked, hidden under ratty tarps, was a pile of scrap surrounding the frame of her speeder. It had been stripped almost bare, with only a few plates left behind.

She stared in silence for several long moments, trying to battle down the anger boiling in her chest. She didn’t hate Jawas, she didn’t. She traded with them for supplies, and had often been able to get what she needed just by treating a few of their minor injuries.

But Maker _damn it_ , they were frustrating! And sometimes…

“Sometimes I just want to wring their scrawny little _necks_!” she hissed, kicking the sand. “See if I patch you up after you fuck with the wrong droid next time.” She waded in, lifting what little remained and digging through the pile of parts. It was amazing this much was left, actually.

“You work with the Jawas?” Boba questioned.

Ravla didn’t look up. “Yeah… Usually I just patch them up and they give me parts to keep everything running,” she muttered. “See if I do _that_ again.”

“Did you leave anything valuable in the speeder?”

“Just some gauze and bacta patches. Dank farrik, the little weasel bastards!” She stood up, kicking a square of metal and glaring as it clattered into the wall. 

Princess had a temper; she was positively _seething_. Boba knew better than to smile. No matter the species, the smaller a person was, the sharper the barbs of their ire. Ravla appeared to be no different. “Will this leave you stranded?” he asked instead.

“I… I’ll figure something out,” Ravla said with a shrug. “I always do.” She had always been resourceful; she’d had to be. This was… this was just shitty timing. She wanted to fucking cry. Frustration bubbled up in her chest, hot tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “Fuck. Let’s go inside. It’s too hot out here.”

“Help me carry these in,” Boba said, walking her over to a pile of tusken rifles and gaffi sticks. 

Wordlessly, she scooped up an armful—some of them were almost as tall as she was—and stalked back to the entryway. The cooler air was a relief to her skin, but the anger still bubbled underneath. She didn’t like getting angry; her temper made her do stupid, rash things when she let it fester.

But at least she had the sense to lay the weapons down with care. Her headscarf got far rougher treatment, torn from her head and tossed to the side. “Do you drink?” she asked, then paused, head tilting and expression drifting, as if she were doing some kind of mental calculations. “You’re not on any meds, so it should be fine.”

Boba raised a brow at her back. “What’ve you got?” He trailed after her as she yanked off her gloves and boots, throwing them out of the way but still on the floor.

“Nothing tasty,” she said. “But it’ll knock you on your ass.”

Boba followed her past her bedroom to the door at the end of hallway. There was no lock on the door, and it slid open at her approach. Ravla stepped into the combination kitchen/pantry, still yanking at her clothes. She’d dressed with an undershirt today, so had no qualms about stripping out of her sash and tunic, too annoyed to think about how form-fitting the sleeveless undershirt was.

Yanking a stepstool over with her foot, she climbed angrily on top to reach the highest shelf, coming down with a large glass jar. Clear liquid sloshed as she set it down on the counter. In Boba’s experience, the clear stuff was usually the most dangerous. She stalked over with as much intimidation her small, plump body could manage, yanking down two small metal cups. She poured a measure of the liquid into each cup and turned to offer one to Boba.

It smelled like jet fuel and mint, and Boba watched Ravla knock hers back and exhale sharply. When he took his shot, he felt a strange combination of icy menthol and the burn of alcohol. Warmth spread instantly in his throat, and a thought occurred to him.

“You haven’t eaten today, have you?” he asked.

Ravla shook her head, going to pour herself another drink. “Nope.” She left the cup on the counter, heading over to the shelf. She yanked out a couple of portions, tearing into them with her teeth. Boba found himself watching her as she prepared the food for herself, taking her second shot as the polystarch rehydrated. 

With her back to him, he was able to see more of the scarring on her back that had glimpsed the night before. They looked like claw-marks, raking over her shoulder and down her back, their full extent hidden by the shirt. Even though they had clearly fully healed, they were still raised and red, almost raw-looking against her freckled skin. Another similar scar marked the back of her soft bicep.

His eyes moved to her hands, noting the rough, raised scars of her wrists. Boba could name those without thinking. More than one bounty had struggled hard once he had caught them, tearing their skin against the binders. Ravla’s skin was marked the same way, all the marks of a hard, violent life juxtaposed against the softness of her curving form.

There was a beauty in that. A powerful will to survive, to kick and scream against the tide, to spit in the face of adversity. And yet all that fire was wrapped in the softest sort of kindness, almost cloyingly sweet in how gentle it was. For those two things to exist together took an extraordinary kind of resilience. A strength of spirit that had become so truly rare in the galaxy.

With her food prepared, Ravla turned, bracing her hands on the counter behind her and hauling herself up to sit, legs dangling. She was glaring ahead at the wall, obviously still stewing. When her eyes shifted over to Boba, her expression noticeably softened.

That was dangerous. That smile, like sunshine and a cool breeze made flesh, could have wormed its way into the coldest heart. It was edged with annoyance now, by the dark circles under her eyes and the wry twist at the corner of her mouth. But that took nothing from the fact that the anger had ebbed from her when she looked at _him_.

Boba wasn’t used to that. It was usually the other way around.

“Thank you again,” Ravla said, warmth creeping out into her limbs. Alcohol always made her feel uncomfortably warm at first, and her face flushed at even the weakest wine. “I can trade those cyclers if they’re in good shape, maybe get a speeder bike.”

It was… such a normal conversation. Something that a couple of neighboring moisture farmers might have had over drinks. Rather than a former military medic and her patient, who was known as one of the fiercest bounty hunters in the galaxy. Boba almost laughed at the absurdity of it, instead just giving a shrug of his shoulders, moving over to pour himself another drink.

Ravla watched him, taking in the way he walked. It was almost… a swagger, something more at home at the cantina in Mos Eisley, the gait of someone dangerous and deadly. Things she was quite certain that Boba _was_. But he just walked up to her counter, tipping the jar of alcohol carefully to pour himself another drink in her kitchen.

The anger was fading, pushed out by the loose, relaxed feeling that drinking gave her. She focused on finishing her food, not wanting to torture her stomach any more than she was already planning on. It was foolish, she thought—not for the first time—this crush she had on the man.

One of the most dangerous people she’d ever met, and he made her insides quiver and her cheeks flush. He was… kind, in a gruff, teasing sort of way. Older than her by probably more than a decade, though the scars made it hard to tell. Hardly a viable option for anything, let alone some puppy-love crush. 

But what did it matter just to think about it? Just to bask in the warmth of his deep voice and imagine it speaking sweetly to her. He would be gone soon enough, off to do whatever it was bounty hunters did after they had been eaten by a sarlacc and survived. What was the harm in thinking about him?

“You never did tell me how old you are,” she finally said. “And I’m not going to guess; I’m terrible at things like that.”

Boba paused briefly, head tilting slightly in thought. “Few years over forty.”

She blinked. “You don’t know?”

“My ship probably has the information in the archives, somewhere,” he mused.

“Your ship?” Revla took another bite, chewing and swallowing before she spoke again. “Where is it?”

His lip curled slightly. “It _should_ still be here, on Tatooine,” he said. “Always parked it before a big job.” As much as he hated the planet, Boba had done a fair amount of business on Tatooine, so he’d bought his own private hangar, a place to park the Slave I so it wouldn’t be messed with while he was away for long periods of time. Hopefully, that still held true.

Ah, he had a ship. So long as it could get passage to its location, he’d be easily on his way to whatever life he might want. That was good, and it made Ravla smile. Whoever he was—or had been—she wanted something good for him. More foolishness on her part, she knew. Bounty hunters were rarely truly good people. But that was what it was to be human, wasn’t it? 

People made choices, and had to live with the consequences of those choices. But one always had the option to make another choice, to change direction. He seemed to have a core of decency, or maybe it was something new, something crafted out of whatever he had made of himself. The way Ravla had cut kindness out of her pain and loss.

“Hope it’s still there,” she said. She knew she was pushing it with the two shots on a nearly empty stomach. But she felt nice now. So, she leaned over to snag the lip of the jar with her fingers, dragging it over and pouring another drink. She caught Boba’s stern look and snickered. “Don’t worry, last one,” she promised with a wink.

The fact that she wasn’t already slurring her words and giggling meant she had a decent tolerance, so Boba wasn’t terribly worried. He didn’t even know why he’d given the look in the first place. It was none of his concern, really.

But it hadn’t exactly been his concern that she lived through last night’s ordeal, either. He could have managed on his own; figured out a way to apply the salve to himself and find a way back to his ship.

And yet he hadn’t.

Maybe it was because he’d had a code, or some semblance of one. He did awful things for awful people, but he’d had his rules. No civilians, no children. And he never dealt in slaves. More than one poor bastard had offered him exorbitant sums of money to retrieve one runaway slave or another. He’d never taken the money.

So here he was, with the woman who’d saved his life and whose life he’d saved, drinking terrible alcohol while she perched on the counter, giving him her undivided attention.

Boba realized that she had paused, drink in her hand as her gaze lingered on him. Quick eyes darted about, taking in the details of his posture and expression, but always coming back to his eyes. Maker, he had pretty eyes. So deep one could drown in them, and sharp enough to cut through any lie or pretense.

Ravla’s eyes held his as she lifted her drink, looking at him for as long as she could before she was forced to break away and swallow the drink. It was icy fire down her throat, laziness curling into her limbs like honey. 

“I was part of the rebellion,” she said, unsure of when her train of thought had gone so totally off the rails.

“No, _really_?” Boba scoffed, but it was playful. You didn’t find this sort of kindness among the Empire’s ranks; they didn’t stand for it.

Ravla made a face at him, lips and nose scrunching up. “Oh, I’m _sorry_ , Mister Enigmatic Bounty Hunter,” she laughed. “I’d been in school to be a doctor, the _Academy_.” 

She gave the word weight, but it was wreathed in scorn, leading Boba to believe that it had been the _Imperial_ Academy. He didn’t say anything, letting her continue.

“There was no soul in that place,” Ravla continued. “Everything was all ‘glory to the Empire’ this, and ‘order to the galaxy’ that. Everyone there wanted to join the fight against the terrorist rebellion…”

“Except you,” Boba finished.

Ravla felt a lump rise in her throat, and swallowed against it. “No… not _just_ me.”

She had lost someone. Everyone in the Rebel Alliance had, either to the Empire or indirectly because of their actions. But seeing that pain laid bare on what was becoming a familiar face hit differently.

Taking a breath, Ravla continued, glossing over the pain that had sharpened her, made her angry and reckless. “I left, a month away from graduation. It wasn’t… _Maker_ , it wasn’t easy to find them. But the Rebels looked at my training like it was Maker-sent.”

Boba wouldn’t ask. Wouldn’t ask about the scars or the binders or who she had lost. She didn’t owe him anything, least of all her pain. But if she wanted to share it, he wouldn’t stop her.

“I was done after Hoth. I just… I didn’t want to, anymore.” He would know there was more to it than that, he was too smart not to.

Maybe his weakened body still wasn’t processing alcohol like it should. Maybe he really was permanently damaged from all that time in the sarlacc pit. But Boba felt the words coming and couldn’t think of a reason to stop them. She didn’t owe him anything, but he felt like he owed her just a little bit of honesty.

“Last job I took got me tangled up with the Empire.”

Ravla blinked, expression tightening so briefly that it was unreadable. “And I see how that went for you,” she said dryly. But there was no malice in her voice, no shields going up in her expression. “Now, if you’d told me you were a Stormtrooper, I might have had to kill you.” The smile was back, sharp and teasing.

“A baby jawa could shoot better than they do,” Boba huffed. “You’d have no trouble.”

It was something that had bothered him, a point of pride that dug in, no matter how he’d tried to ignore it. He knew he was a clone, and that his unlucky brothers had been sent to fight and die for the failing Republic. But _they_ had been like his father, trained warriors with skill and honor. With the clones decommissioned, all that was left were the half-trained idiots in their shoddy plastoid armor.

Ravla laughed, the sound light and warm. “You’re not wrong,” she giggled, legs swigging. She leaned back, bracing her hands behind her as she considered him again. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a really nice voice?”

Ah, yes. _There_ was the alcohol. Stripping her inhibitions until the thoughts she had resolved to keep to herself came spilling out, tumbling like a thoughtless landslide.

Later, Boba would muse to himself if he shouldn’t have left her alone then, with her guard down and just speaking her mind. But the way she was perched, relaxed and very nearly happy, her expression open and honest… he really couldn’t resist.

Boba stepped forward, inching into her space until he stood before her. Just another step and he would have been standing between her knees. “You think so, princess?” he purred, watching her eyes widen before pupils blew wide, her body rigid as it tried to fight the shiver.

“That!” Ravla said. “Right there! You keep using those… those pet names!” She _sounded_ flustered now, but there was laughter in her voice.

“If you don’t like it… I can stop,” Boba offered, tilting his head, and pointedly refusing to look away, pinning her with that dark stare that sharpened the heat in her body to a single, glowing point.

“No!” she said, a bit too quickly. Finally, her eyes dropped from him, sliding to the side to stare pointedly at nothing in particular. “No, it’s…” she had to swallow, “it’s fine.” 

It was _more_ than fine. She wanted him to do it _more_ , to say them with his lips against her neck and his hands on her thighs. And with that smug look he was giving her, he probably _knew_ it, too. Definitely knew it. He was _teasing_ her, taking advantage of her inability to keep her damn mouth _shut_ when she was tipsy. 

“You’re a _bastard_ , you know that?” she said without heat, crossing her dangling ankles and squeezing her thighs together.

“Technically never had a mother,” Boba said easily, his wicked grin still lingering at the edges of his mouth. “So, you’re… about half-right.”

Her laughter was cackle, surprised and bright, color still high in her cheeks. “I didn’t mean—fuck, Boba…” The laughter danced in her eyes, crinkled up and smiling, the ghost of a dimple on one cheek. Her heart was still racing, as if in an attempt to beat its way out of her chest to get to the object of her desire.

It was foolish. A stupid, drunken fancy. And yet her leg still reached out, her foot brushing the side of his thigh. His hand closed easily around her ankle, and she jumped, eyes snapping back to his. She felt pinned, like a butterfly in a shadowbox, spread out and exposed.

Boba took that single step towards her, his grip on her ankle forcing Ravla to bend her leg, catching herself on her hands behind her as he crowded into her space. Her breathing went quick and shallow, her heaving chest just inches from brushing his. His hand lifted, catching her chin with his thumb and forefinger.

“You should be careful, pretty girl,” he said, watching her eyes darken, gone almost black with how blown her pupils were. “People might get… ideas.”

His words _melted_ her, set fire to her insides, dripping like molten honey, sweet and scalding. His voice, the rumble of it, was enough to make her drop her caution, her careful navigation of her own thoughts, restraint going up like cinders in the air. And he was standing _so kriffing close_. She could reach out and touch him if she wanted.

“And… and what if… what if I _want_ people to get ideas?” she whispered. Her voice had roughened, gone low and somehow soft. A lilting, tempting little song that was trying to worm its way into Boba’s chest, seeping in at the cracks.

His thumb stroked up her chin, catching on her bottom lip. A little gasp escaped her, body curling towards him an infinitesimal amount as her lips parted. Her lip was so soft, so different from the rough callouses of his hands. There was innocence there, too. Delicate, corruptible. Vulnerable in a way that Boba would never have the strength for.

This close, he could smell the faintest whiff of alcohol on her breath. His eyes closed, and he took a deep breath of his own. He didn’t want to, but he let her go, stepping out of her space again and feeling as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Ravla briefly leaned after him before going still, taking a moment to breathe.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “That was…” Torturous, beautiful, exactly what she had wanted and _not enough_. “You’re right. Shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach.”

She hadn’t wanted him to pull away, had wanted him to act out whatever had been going through his head. But he had been _right_ to pull away, to pull back from whatever they were careening towards when her judgment was impaired. She had wanted to before she drank, and she knew she would want it after.

But, better to act on it _then_ , when her mind was clear, and she was able to speak with certainty. She chanced a glance back at him again, and offered a smile. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Boba’s brows furrowed. “For what?”

How did you say, _‘for not being an asshole and pushing when I was drunk like so many other men have done?’_ without making your love life up until that moment sound like a complete and utter shitshow?

Instead, she just smiled, pushing off the counter. “I’m going to hit the fresher, see if the sonic can dig some of the dust out of my pores. Help yourself to… whatever.” When she passed him, she didn’t move like a frightened animal, rushing for cover after a brush with a predator.

Boba watched her go, finally letting out a breath when the door had closed behind her again. This was trouble. But not necessarily a _bad_ thing.

000

The rest of the day passed quietly, small bouts of inconsequential conversation passing between the two of them. Every now and then, Boba would notice faint traces of a Core World accent in her speech. Some phrases sounded downright Courscanti. It make sense, considering her schooling. The Imperial Academy was strict in all things, and would, of course, consider any other accent uncouth and to be done away with. There was more there, too. Some vowels sharpening and consonants smoothed over. Maybe little vestiges of wherever her parents had been from.

Ravla, for her part, had never heard anyone that talked like Boba did. And yet somehow it was just the tiniest bit familiar. Like a strain of song she'd only heard once as a very young child. What she _was_ sure of, however, was that he did indeed have the most beautiful voice that she had ever heard.

Ans she was rusty at normal conversation. She hasn't had someone so interesting to converse with in _years,_ let alone a man who turned her insides to jelly with just a little quirk of his mouth.

She provided him with a toothbrush and his own tube of fluoride paste, offering a tired smile as she finally drifted off to bed.

But even emotionally drained to the point of physical fatigue, she lay awake in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. Had she really become so desperate for real human connection? So tired of being alone that she latched onto the first person to come along?

Part of her argued that _anyone_ would have been fascinated by Boba. He was a completely unknown variable; as equally intimidating as he was calm and laid back. He was a thinker, she was sure of it. Always watching the world around him, taking it all in and considering every possible outcome. He could probably read her like a book. 

It was both maddening and entrancing.

Ravla rolled over, aggressively yanking her blankets up around her ears.

Better to not give the man any more space in her head than she already was.


	5. The Calm Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, rescuing strange men from the desert is a very personally frustrating venture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles* I had so much fun writing this! I honestly debated on deviating from my original plan and making this quite a bit smuttier. I didn't, but I think you'll enjoy this all the same! New tags added!

* * *

* * *

Ravla hated sonic showers.

They made her hair frizzy and only made her dry skin worse. If she had a headache, a sonic shower made that worse, too.

And they did absolutely _nothing_ to quiet the heat still sitting like a burning coal in the pit of her stomach. The sonic waves buzzed through her skin, barely anything at all. But they pushed and prodded at the sizzling undercurrent of want, spinning it so tight around her bones that she felt heavy with it. Bracing her hands against the wall of the fresher, she hung her head between her shoulders.

“Maker’s fucking _stars_ ,” she muttered, letting her head press forward into the cool metal. The hand not still braced against the wall slid down her side, going over her hip to dip between her legs.

“Fuck.” Her inner lips were slick and swollen, and she bit her lip against a frustrated wine. Without anything to stir her mind, it had been months since she’d indulged herself like this. Just her exploratory touch had her breath catching, stuttering into a groan as she trapped her clit between her middle and ring finger, hips rocking into the pressure.

She pressed her brow into her forearm, dipping her fingers into her cunt to bring up more slick. She remembered the feel of Boba’s hand on the back of her neck, the warm, rough weight of it. And his voice, commanding her to lay back in the bed. Her cunt clenched around nothing as she imagined the bed dipping with his weight, what it would have felt like to have that weight over her, those same gentle hands pressing her roughly down into the mattress.

Ravla jerked her head up, biting into her own arm to muffle the pathetic, needy sound she made.

She saw his hand around her ankle, the easy way his fingers circled it completely, making it look fragile; pictured him using his grip to drag her to the edge of the bed, spreading her legs and stepping between them, rough palms skimming up to squeeze her thighs.

With her hips rolling forward, and heat starting to coil in her belly, she switched to direct contact on her clit, shivering at the wet, quick strokes. Boba’s hands would feel different, she thought. Rougher, thicker. _Stronger_. What would they feel like, digging bruises into her hips as he took her from behind, muttering praises and calling her ‘good girl’?

She felt the heat drawing up, twisting into a tight point as her thighs began to tremble. Muffling her ragged breathing into her forearm, Ravla’s hips began to quake, bucking into her hand as the tension and pressure spun up tighter and tighter, a storm clenching her muscles and stealing the breath from her chest.

Her orgasm came over her like a wave, pushing her up, up, _up_ on the crest, where she hung, desperate and afraid she might not be able to fall over the precipice. 

_“There’s a good girl…”_

The echo of Boba’s words pushed her over, and her world shrank to a single point, her low, punched out groan muffled into her arm, breathing stilted and ragged. She slid to her knees, hand still buried between her legs as she shook, trying desperately to catch her breath.

Still slouched on her knees, Ravla groped upwards on the wall, blindly searching with her hand until she found the button to shut off the sonic. With the alcohol still in her system, she felt loose and liquid, nearly boneless. She lingered there for another moment, eyes closed.

When she finally stood, it was on shaking legs, color high in her cheeks as she reached for her clothes. Maker, what was she thinking? So much for not giving him more space in her head. She was twisting herself up over a man she barely knew. He was like a black hole, drawing her in while she was powerless to resist. What must he think of her? An idealistic little girl swayed by little more than his voice…

Looking at it from the outside, it seemed… silly. The inconsequential infatuation of an isolated woman. There could be no meaning in it, a passing fancy for the man that had come to her door by chance. And did she really know enough about him to have any sort of _real_ feelings?

She dressed swiftly, having exchanged her outdoor clothes for a simple half dress, slit up the sides to her waist and worn with form fitting leggings. Pulling a brush through her frazzled hair, she stepped out into the hall, taking a breath to steal herself. This was all uncharted territory for her. There had never been any patient that had drawn her in like this, a foolish moth flying willingly into the flames.

But that didn’t change the fact that he was her patient, and still under her care. It wasn’t easy, but she managed to package her thoughts away, folded clumsily underneath everything else to be examined at a later time. Boba was back in the lab, one of the cycler rifles disassembled on the table before him.

He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, grease smearing his fingertips and hands. The gaffi sticks were leaning up against the wall, the tallest of the bunch set away from the others. Ravla drifted over to it, fingers tracing up the worn, smooth wood. Taking it in her hands, she tested the weight of it. It was heavy, and longer than she was tall.

“Try one of the shorter ones,” Boba said behind her. “You’ll fall over if you try to swing that.”

A half smile curled her lips, and Ravla leaned the stick up against the wall again. She drifted back to the table, standing across from Boba. “If it’s going to be hand-to-hand, I’ll do more damage with a scapel than a stick.”

Boba’s eyes lifted to her. “Fair enough.” Healers were dangerous if pushed; they knew all the soft, delicate places on the body. All the places where just a small wound could have you bleeding out in seconds, or leave you crippled in agony. 

“Are they worth anything?” Ravla asked, gesturing at the rifle.

“Most of them are in decent shape. I’m keeping this one.” He nodded to the disassembled pieces before him. “Keeping the ammo, too.”

“Fair enough,” Ravla echoed. “To the victor go the spoils.” Her mind very helpfully pointed out that _she_ could have been the spoils of that fight, if you warped the interpretation the right way.

“The blaster rifle they hit you with was damaged when I returned fire. Useless, but I kept the power cell.”

“Just a power cell will get you five gallons of water with most farmers,” she replied. A new thought had emerged, something you’d forgotten with Boba’s sudden and chaotic arrival. Shit.

When Ravla had first showed up on Tatooine, there had been a fight, because it was Mos Eisley. Blaster fire and cursing and screaming. Then silence. She hadn’t known who had started it, or even what the reason had been. But she was as she’d been made, a healer. So, she had patched up who she could, and made those beyond saving as comfortable as she could.

One of the smugglers that she had saved ended up in her care for over a month. She hadn’t had the bacta tank then, so his recovered had been long and excruciating. Afterwards, he made a deal with her. If he and his crew ever had a medical emergency, they could come to her, no questions asked. For that, she took ten percent of any haul of medical supplies.

“I’m going to have visitors in a few days,” she said, already looking at him when his head lifted from his work. “Some… smugglers I work with. They’re due for a supply drop for me.” He was watching her closely. Even if she had _wanted_ to lie to him, she wouldn’t have tried. Those sharp eyes would have seen through anything, “Some of Timur’s guys are jumpy, but shouldn’t be anything to worry about.”

And there wasn’t. Timur was friendly with you, cuffing his crew about the head if they ever said anything inappropriate. He kept them in line, and there had never been any trouble. Boba was a new variable that the crew might not like, but she’d had patients on the premises during a supply drop before.

“You think _I_ would make them jumpy, you mean,” Boba said plainly, astute as expected.

Ravla smiled and gave a slight nod. “You don’t exactly look or act like the average patient.” He had that air about him; the sort of ‘fuck with me and you might not live to regret it’ sort of thing. He didn’t have to be done up in armor for it either. It was his very presence. He was a predator to the core. It was part of what she found so attractive.

“So you want me to play the injured old man,” Boba scoffed.

Ravla snorted, catching the little mirthful spark in his eyes. “Maker, no. You’d be a terrible actor,” she chuckled. “I don’t think you could ever be unintimidating, even if you tried.” She could assume plenty about him, just from the way he carried himself. A killer, certainly. He had probably done awful things in his line of work, even if unintentionally.

But that wasn’t what Ravla cared about. She cared about the way he had come to her aid, had killed to protect her. She cared about the way he had carried her inside, steadying her in his arms as he treated her wounds. The way he’d carried her to bed, and soothed away her nightmares, however unconventionally.

Maybe he _had_ been a bad person. But judging a person solely on their past was unfair. Were Ravla herself to be judged in such away, there was plenty to find fault with. She was no saint; she had her own sharp edges and had made plenty of choices she’d rather forget. 

“When will they arrive?” Boba finally asked, returning to cleaning the rifle.

Ravla pushed away from the table, going to her more cluttered desk, and sweeping up a holopad. The blue light softly illuminated her face as she wandered back, fingers skimming over the glowing screen. “They said a week in their last message, so…” A few more flicks of her fingers. “About… forty-eight standard hours? Give or take.”

Boba gave a hum of acknowledgement. “I’ll try not to spook them too badly.” He was rewarded by a soft laugh, and he caught her smile out of the corner of her eye as she moved away. Even reduced to a fraction, the expression on her face was so bright, a flicker of gentle sunshine. And yet somehow it was just as scalding as the unforgiving rays of the suns above, making Tatooine inhospitable at _best_.

Finding what she needed, Ravla paused, staring down at the jar of salve. It wasn’t like she could go back and say they could skip a day; she had told him _every day_. He probably wouldn’t object—or even _say_ anything—if she tried to weasel out of it. But he would _know_ that it was because of what had happened in the kitchen. Some little _spiteful_ part of her didn’t want to give him that satisfaction, of getting her so worked up she didn’t trust herself to touch him.

So she walked back to him, setting the jar on the table. “When you’re done,” she said, tapping it with her finger when he looked up. “I’m grabbing something more to eat.” Determined though she was, she was quite certain that she didn’t have the strength to deal with watching him undress.

Rehydrating a half-portion and consuming it took less time than she’d thought, but it would have to be enough. She padded back down the hall, bare feet quiet on the stone. Even though she knew what she would probably find on the other side of the door, she still took a moment to gather herself, a moment to breathe and put herself back into the headspace of a medic.

What she accomplished wavered sharply as she stepped through the door. Boba was still at the table where she had left him, head bent over reassembling the rifle. But he had stripped to the waist and exchanged his seat for a stool that left his back open. Ravla wanted to linger, to watch the way his hands—rough and work-worn—worked with quick, deft movements over the weapon.

But she kept walking, moving through the familiar space and coming around the table. It was impossible to miss the little flickers of tendons in his forearms as his fingers worked. The motion triggered an answering shift in the thick swell of his biceps, drawing her eyes up the slope of his shoulders. She took it all in as she went, half out of the corner of her eye as she unscrewed the lid of the jar.

Taking a breath, she scooped the salve into her hands, rubbing it between her palms to warm it. As before, she started at the base of his neck. To her surprise, she found it knotted with tension, extending out into the trapezius on either side. Frowning, curled her fingers over the front, digging in with her thumbs. Boba groaned softly, little more than a rumbling exhale of tension.

“Too much?” she tried.

“It’s fine.”

Ravla slowly worked her hands out, digging in with her thumbs and her knuckles. _‘He overdid it,’_ she thought to herself, working the salve lower and finding more knots and stiffness. A little spark of guilt bubbled up in her chest, but she kept it to herself. He wouldn’t care for her apologies, no matter how necessary she might think them. So, she kept going, working her way down his back, spreading salve along the whorls of scar tissue. 

She could feel each breath and expansion of his ribs under her hands, the warm flex of muscle and the subtle stretch of skin. His even, calming breath put Ravla at ease as well, her own unconscious rhythm of inhale and exhale slowing in an attempt to match his. There was a peace in that, and she could feel her own tension ebbing away, folded away in the quiet moment.

A smile slowly curved her lips, fond and warm. She _liked_ this; helping people, easing their pain, and providing them some brief respite from whatever was going on in the world outside. There was solace to be found in that, a gentle pride that stilled her quivering heart and calmed her racing mind.

She could feel the tension leaving Boba as well, his shoulders and posture relaxing. It widened her smile, feeding into that subtle curl of pride. She stroked her hands up and down his back, slow and gentle. “Better?” she asked, hand lingering on his shoulder as she came around to stand at his side.

When his eyes lifted to her, there was no shiver running down her spine, no quivering in her legs. The look on Boba’s face was… softer, somehow. If such a face could ever be considered soft. He looked relaxed, his posture loose and comfortable. “Much.” It was just one word, a single syllable. 

Maybe there was a little recklessness still lingering, or maybe it was just more foolishness. “Here, let me get your arms,” she said, reaching for the salve. They both knew she didn’t have to, that Boba was perfectly capable of doing it himself. It was a flimsy, painfully transparent excuse to keep touching him, to stretch out the moment of warmth and calm between them.

Boba could have declined the offer, could have reminded her that he could do it just fine on his own. He could have kept that little barrier in place. But it would be a lie to say he didn’t want her to continue. Her hands were soft in a way his had never been; never _would_ be. They were _gentle_ with him. No one had been gentle with him since his father died, and his father’s care had been… stern. Not cruel— _never_ cruel—but it had been vastly different.

Ravla’s hands touched him as if he were made from the finest of spun glass, some intricate treasure she was scared of breaking. It rankled, at first; an irritating reminder of his weakened state. And yet…

Now she was drawing the salve down the wide, slithering trail of scar tissue on his arm, sprawling over his bicep and curling towards his elbow. She followed the scar with her fingertips, her other hand smoothing more salve on the underside of his arm. Even with him loose and relaxed, she could feel the strength of him; her small hands couldn’t even meet around the thickest part of his arm. The warmth of contentment expanded in her chest, heating at the edges and tightening her chest with a flutter.

On his forearm, there were a few patches where hair was growing back, fine and dark. It tickled her palm as her hands moved lower, turning his arm so that his palm faced the ceiling. Her fingers brushed over his pulse as she came down to his wrist and up again. Whatever sort of gloves he’d worn had spared his hands from any real damage, if you didn’t count the two broken fingers.

But she found her hands drifting over his anyways, fingers tracing over his knuckles. They were heavily scarred as well, but these marks were older, healed over long ago and darkening his tan skin. Almost instinctively, Ravla’s fingers started to curl with his. She practically _yanked_ her hands away.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, reaching for the lid to the jar. “I’ll just let you—”

Boba caught her wrist, tugging her back to stand between his knees. “Finish what you started, little one.” His voice was low, just shy of a growl; gentle and commanding all at once. It was like he had reached into her chest, seizing the very breath in her lungs and holding it there. But she wasn’t afraid, not really. His eyes had her again, her focus drawn to a searing point as heat dripped like honey down her spine.

All at once, all that Ravla could think of was about was how he had called her _pretty_ not so long ago. The word felt like it had been suspended by hooks inside her, catching and digging in, impossible to escape. She took a breath, pushing past the intensity. If he was inviting her touch, she wasn’t about to say no. In some rush of courage, she held his gaze as she reached for the jar again. His hand fell from her wrist, but he never looked away from her.

Boba knew it was a dangerous game. Toying with her like this. For all that she had lived through and survived, there was still that core of innocence to her. She was gentle, and soft, and seemed so eager to bend to his commands. Some dark thrill came alive in him at the thought of corrupting that innocence. Braced on his knee, his hand flexed, wanting to reach out. To mark her skin with his touch.

Even though she had gotten her body moving again, Ravla still felt like her ribs were suddenly too tight, squeezing around her lugs and her racing heart. She had to take another breath when she laid her hands on him again, trying not to let the soft exhale stutter. She wanted to know what he was doing, what he meant. Was he trying to warn her, like before? Telling her that her actions had consequences?

No, that didn’t seem right.

Was he teasing her?

There was a touch at the side of her thigh, warmth seeping quickly through the thin fabric of her leggings. It was Boba’s hand, she realized. He had his hands on his knees, and she was standing close enough that all he had to do was turn one palm towards her, letting it fall against her thigh. The touch was electric, heat prickling under her skin and racing along her nerve endings like a lightning storm.

With her heart racing as it was—still making a fair attempt to beat its way clear out of her chest—Ravla had to focus on not rushing. Some last shred of pride dug in, refusing to let him see just how thrown off she was, how distracted. So she treated his arm with the same care and precision as the other, following the twists of scar tissue down his bicep and upper arm.

When Ravla reached the crook of his elbow, Boba’s hand slid slowly up her side, ghosting over the curve of her hip to settle at the narrowing slope of her waist. There was no hiding the way her breath hitched, or the shiver that made her thighs clench and her fingers flutter against his arm.

To combat the awkward angle, Ravla turned, still staying within the bracket of his spread legs. “You know, Boba,” she said, holding his forearm in one hand while the other reached for the jar, “doing things like that… might give a girl ideas.” She didn’t know where the reckless courage came from, but it felt good to turn his words back to him.

Boba saw her small smirk in profile, a hint of smugness in her sideways glance. “Oh, but you had ideas before this, pretty girl,” he murmured, his other hand slipping up behind her to settle on the small of her back, chuckling when she jumped.

 _Fuck_.

He could have done anything with her at that point. Could have pushed her to her knees or bent her over the table. She would have let him, would have gone gladly in any direction he pulled her. She _wanted_ him to pull her. But instead, he drug her along by _inches_ , touches too feather-light to be coming from such a rough man.

“Maybe,” she finally said, voice soft. “But right now… I’m a little more interested in _your_ ideas.” Finished with the salve, Ravla took one last steadying breath. Then she turned to face him, shivering to come under the direct power of his gaze again.

She was too perfect. Equal parts soft and sharp. Both gentle and unafraid. And Boba didn’t want her to be afraid, not of him. It was an uncomfortably new feeling, his first instinct to squash it out of existence. But she was… accepting him, leaning into the danger of him, knowing full well the type of ruin a man like him could bring. 

Unable to resist, or perhaps choosing not to, he lifted a hand to tuck a stray whisp of flyaway hair behind her ear. “Too many to count, little one.” He watched her shudder at the gentle touch, at the implication of his words.

A sound caught his attention, old instincts making him jerk to his feet, the stool clattering to the floor behind him and his hands grabbing her upper arms. Ravla yelped as she was yanked against his chest. But before she could question him, she heard it too. The roar of engines overhead, far too large for a sail barge or a land hopper.

It didn’t just pass overhead, the contents of the shelves and the items on the tables rattling as what could only be a _starship_ landed outside. A burst of static piled onto the rush of noise, and Ravla broke away from Boba to run to her com system. 


	6. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get dicey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's mostly plot this chapter... but I promise that softer/more angsty/smuttier parts are on the horizon! Please tell me what you think!

_“Ravla, we need—!”_ There was a crash on the other end of the coms, muffled shouting that turned into a rush of static.

“Timur? Timur, come in!” Ravla tried to raise him again, but all she got was the same crackling whine of static. About to try another frequency, the line went completely dead, silence yawning open around her. “Shit.”

She scrambled away from the desk, grabbing up her boots and yanking them on as she went. Half hopping, she pulled a canvas bag down from one of the shelves, rummaging through the contents before she threw it over her shoulder. 

Rushing to the door, she looked over her shoulder at Boba. “I’m gonna head out and see—” An alarm started blaring from her holopad, the screen lighting up and flashing red. Ravla skidded to a halt, turning in confusion. “The door? What the hell is—?!”

Boba heard the thump of running feet, grabbing Ravla by the arm and yanking her back against him just as the door flew open, a small crowd of people half falling into the room. A human man had his arm draped over the shoulder of a taller zabrak, a mess of bandages covering half his face and wrapped around his middle. There were two others, a twi’lek and another human, both of them looking a little worse for wear.

“Dank farrik! What the hell happened?” Ravla was peeling away from Boba, running up to the man hanging off the zabrak. She cupped his face carefully, turning it enough to see that he still had one functioning eye. “Timur, you… kriff.” Then she was looking at the zabrak. “Ulstar, hold him for just a second. She turned to look at Boba, pulling gloves out of her bag, “clear the table, please.”

When she saw him move to obey, she was rushing back to her shelves, coming back a full tray and a folded white sheet. With the table clear, she unfolded the sheet with a snap over it. “Ulstar, lay him on his back.” The zabrak easily lifted Timur onto the table, laying him out carefully as instructed.

Feeling eyes on him, Boba looked over at the other two. The twi’lek was very obviously sizing him up, a subtle curl to their lip. Boba just blinked. They were young, telegraphing their restless energy and nervousness. The human beside them wasn’t looking at Boba, instead focused on the injured captain. But the expression wasn’t quite right, too sharp to be real concern. Boba’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, old instincts crackling to life.

“Ulstar, what the _fuck_ happened?” Ravla said, quickly drawing her scanner over Timur.

“The console exploded,” the zabrak said. He was a proud, intimidating man. But Ravla had met him enough to tell that he was actually _worried_ , a different sort of edge to his voice. “We were already ahead of schedule, and were gonna go to the cantina to have a few drinks.”

Ravla clicked her tongue against her teeth softly. “This isn’t just an electrical short, Ulstar,” she said quietly. The burns were littered with tiny pieces of metal, the pieces far too uniform in size to be random bits of the console.

“I _know_ ,” Ulstar hissed. “We took on some new crew a couple weeks back.”

Even through the clarity that came with treating the wounded, Ravla felt a little spark of fear. “We’ll talk later. Give me those forceps—no, to the left—yes, those. Gimme.” With the forceps in one hand, she passed the scanner to Ulstar with the other. “Keep that near his temple. I’ve got to get these pieces out before I put the bacta on. If he starts waking up, or that screen flashes red, let me know.”

“Right.” Ulstar moved to stand at the head of the table, bent over Timur’s head with the little handheld scanner.

Without looking, Boba could tell that she was in her element. That was fine; she would do what needed to be done. His only concern was the other two unknowns now standing in the lab. Ulstar didn’t appear to be a problem, too concerned about his captain to pay attention to anything else. But the other two… They were sharing glances now, little flicks of their eyebrows and clenching of their jaws.

Apparently, the twi’lek objected to the careful observation. “The _fuck_ are you staring at, old man?” he growled, baring sharpened teeth.

Before Boba could even consider how he might want to respond, Ravla’s head snapped up, her usually warm eyes flashing steel and fire. “Shut _up_ , Gar,” she hissed. “I don’t have time for your shit right now. He’s another patient, and he can look wherever he pleases.”

The twi’lek flinched as if he’d been struck, shoulders hunching and head dipping. “Sorry, Miss Cobor.”

Boba kept the grin to himself; at least the boy had sense. Stepping back, Boba leaned against the wall, right beside the gaffi stick that had been set apart from the others. It would be the work of a moment to swing it up into his hands if necessary. He still didn’t trust Gar and the other, but they seemed sufficiently cowed by Ravla’s outburst. It was enough to make him feel at ease enough to tug his shirt back over his head.

As Ravla worked, Boba let his thoughts drift a bit, but not enough to lose focus on his surroundings. She was so different from the meek, teasing little thing that had been standing before him a moment ago. The one that had quaked and shivered at the barest touch from his hand. Now, she had gone sharp again, all discipline and order, a clear mark of having worked with hard-headed soldiers and pilots.

Ravla worked quickly, picking out the shrapnel and dropping it into a metal tray beside the bed. Slowly, she peeled back the bandages bit by bit, covering the burned, torn skin in a thick coating of bacta. Once his torso was freshly bandaged, she moved onto his head. She pulled the scanner over to look at, letting go and reaching into her bag.

Her hands were steady as she drew liquid into a needle, and then moved to inject it into Timur’s arm. When she peeled the bandages from his face, she breathed a sigh of relief. His eye was intact, but the tissue around it was starting to bruise. More bacta, and more clean bandages. 

“He should be out for a few hours,” she said, stepping back from the table as she peeled off her gloves. “The spare room is occupied but I can bring out a cot for him. Bring him this way.”

Ulstar looked up. “Is it really safe to move him?”

A little of Ravla’s irritation left her. “Yes, he’ll be alright.” As she passed, she put a hand on Ulstar’s forearm, giving what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Boba watched her move over to the screen from his first day out of the bacta tank, expanding it and moving to tug a folded cot from behind one of the shelves. She made it up with a small pillow and a blanket, waiting patiently as the zabrak carefully lifted and carried Timur over to her. 

“Do you want to wait with him?” she asked, and Ulstar nodded. She brought a stool for him, leaving him be while she went to wash her hands. Her eyes found Boba’s as she went, an apologetic smile all she could offer. When she was done, she turned to the other two newcomers, hands on her hips. “Now, can explain why you had to _break down my door_ instead of just using the ship’s coms?”

Gar shuffled his feet, lekku twitching nervously, not meeting her eyes even though he was nearly a head taller than her. “It… it all happened so fast. We didn’ know what had happened, and Ulstar was just yelling for us to land by your place, and then he was taking the captain out and…”

Ravla pinched the bridge of her nose, the picture of quiet, restrained exasperation.

The other human piped up. “And… the main coms console was kinda… broken.”

She looked over. “Sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” she said, doing her best to offer a smile. “I’m Ravla Cobor.”

The man briefly met her eyes, nodding nervously. “I’m Merrik.”

“Nice to meet you, Merrik,” Ravla said. She looked back to the twi’lek. “Gar, keep an eye on things for me. I’ll be back in a moment.” The poor bastard looked _horrified_ that she was trusting him to ‘keep an eye on things’, but he nodded hurriedly. Seemingly satisfied, she walked back to Boba. “C’mon, I need your help with a few things.”

It was pointedly nondescript, the look in her eyes flashing with brief urgency. Boba just nodded and followed her, heading down the hall that led to the sleeping quarters and the kitchen. Once the door had closed behind them, Ravla spoke in a hushed voice.

“Something fishy is going on,” she said over her shoulder. “Ulstar said they hired new crew, and there was shrapnel in Timur’s wounds that wouldn’t just come from a blown-up console.”

“You think someone’s trying to stage a mutiny,” Boba said plainly.

“Yes. And I’ll be _damned_ if it happens in _my_ kriffing house.” She strode into the kitchen, gathering a pitcher of water and several cups. “One other thing.” She turned and met his eyes. “Do you want me to use a different name for you?” The question was so far out of left field that Boba didn’t respond right away, just blinking at her. Without an answer, Ravla continued. “You said you were a famous hunter. I’m assuming everyone thought you died in the sarlacc pit, and I wasn’t sure if you wanted people knowing you were… well, _you_.”

It was such a strangely considerate train of thought. That it was for _him_ , for _his benefit_ , settled strangely over Boba. In the course of his career, people had stopped _asking_ what he wanted and just done as he had told them. They didn’t _think_ about him outside of fear or distrust. And yet this girl thought ahead, took his possible wants and needs into consideration with nothing to gain for herself.

That same soft, gentle feeling expanded in his chest again, a smile pressing against the back of his lips, insistent. He swallowed it back down, shaking his head as he took the cups from her. “It’s dangerous to be so kind, little one,” he said quietly.

Maker, he sounded so _soft_ when he said it, and Ravla’s breath caught in her throat. She offered a small, sad smile. “I like myself a lot better when I’m kind,” she said, and there was weight to the words, something raw and open and painfully vulnerable. There was a brief moment of silence. “I… I still need an answer though.”

There was only one instance he could think of where he had been called something other than the name that his father had given him. But Boba wasn’t about to use _that_ particular moniker. A thought occurred to him, of someone that had been kind to him back then, back when he was nothing but rage and hate, so twisted up in the thought of revenge that nothing else had existed.

“You can use the name Jax,” he finally said.

Ravla didn’t question it. “Alright, Jax it is. C’mon.”

She led him back down the hall, emerging to three more strangers in her lab. She stopped, staring at the three weequay males. Standing at her elbow, Boba saw the subtle shift of tendons in her throat as took them in. “Well,” she said, voice made carefully neutral. “I think I’ll need some more cups.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Ulstar was standing, putting Timur’s resting place at his back, hand hovering near the blaster on his hip. The tension was _palpable_ , and a string of curses bubbled in the back of Ravla’s throat. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good _at all_. She wanted them all out. Every single one of them except her patient. Everything about the situation set her teeth on edge, her chest tight with anxiety and her pulse racing.

“Ah, you’re the healer then,” one of the weequay said. “Timur failed to mention that you were such a pretty little thing.”

The words produced an instant negative reaction in Ravla, so sharp and unsettling she could almost taste it in the back of her throat. _Boba_ had called her pretty, making her blush and squirm. _Now_ … all she wanted to get as far away from the speaker of the words as she possibly could. But she kept her face blank, setting the pitcher down on the counter.

“Yes, I’m a healer. I hope there won’t be any issue with my payment.” She felt Boba at her heels, setting down the cups beside the pitcher. “I’m afraid my home isn’t suited to entertaining. Perhaps you’d be more comfortable waiting on the ship?”

She picked up her bag and walked it over to the shelf. As she lifted it, her wrist knocked into one of the trays of supplies, several items clattering to the floor. With a muttered curse, she knelt, gathering them into her arms before straightening up again. She was by no means a master of slight of hand, but she had quick fingers and nerves of steel. It was easy to slip the scalpel into her sleeve, wedging it under one of her hair elastics to keep it in place.

Turning, she was moving back across the room, over to where Boba had gone back to stand, the repaired rifle and gaffi stick both within easy reach. She had to pass the other smugglers as she went, and bit her lip against the visceral dislike of turning her back to them. Suddenly, Boba was stepping forward, reaching out and grabbing for her. In the same moment, she felt fingers close in a fist around her hair, yanking her backwards off her feet.

The world spun in a blur, a rough, leathery arm folding over her throat as she was pulled up against an unfamiliar chest. When she blinked the world back into focus, Boba had the rifle leveled, aimed over her head at the much taller weequay. For just a moment, barely enough time for a single heartbeat, Ravla felt a shiver of fear. The look in Boba’s eyes was sharp, like some dark, twisting thing had come rushing to the surface, hungry for blood and being held by only a thread of restraint.

“Ah-ah. Careful, old man.” The weequay’s voice was right beside her ear, almost sing-song as he pressed his forearm against her throat. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“You’re the one doing something— _kriff_ —stupid!” Ravla bit out, hands digging hard into the leather hide of her captor’s arm.

He grabbed her wrist— _not_ the one with the hidden blade—yanking it behind her and pushing up until she cried out in pain, shoulder burning. “Shut _up_ , you stupid bitch!” he spat.

“It’d be in your best interest to let the girl go.” Boba’s voice was as different as the look in his eyes. It was harsh, battle-hardened, and commanding, and Ravla felt another shiver of fear despite herself.

“Shoot him.”

Out of the corner of her eye to the right, Ravla saw one of the other weequay raise a blaster at Boba, her cry coming out hoarse and choked as her body bucked violently. The crack of the cycler rifle made her ears ring, a flash of red light flashing to her left. Then she was being dragged back, feet going out from under her as she was lifted bodily by her throat. It was getting harder to breathe, harder to focus her eyes. But now there were bodies in front of her.

“Put. Her. Down.” That was Boba’s voice. “You’re outnumbered here.”

The bastard was going to kill her. Ravla could feel herself fading, the pressure on her windpipe becoming dangerous. Something sharp dug into the heel of her hand, and she felt a trickle of blood down her wrist. The scalpel. Fuck. Hopefully it was sharp enough to get through weequay skin, and hopefully she was remembering right about their major arteries.

Boba was sighting in on the weequay’s head, ready to blow the bastard’s brains all over the wall. Suddenly Ravla was flailing again, and there was a spray of dark red, following by a choked curse that wasn’t hers. Ravla dropped to the ground, the weequay stumbling back and clutching his neck. Ulstar’s blaster fired, and the weequay dropped, crumpling to the floor, blood spreading quickly from a slash in the side of his throat.

Ravla tried to breathe, the sudden intake of air making her cough, the sound deep, guttural and wrenching. Her throat _burned_ , the side of her face sticky with blood. As she clutched at her neck, Boba’s eyes fell on the small flash of silver in front of her. A bloody scalpel, just a tiny sliver of metal. Boba felt a strange surge of pride; Ravla had been the one to take the kill. He suddenly remembered the clatter of things falling to the floor, of her bending with her back to the room as she gathered up the scattered items.

He held back on the urge to go to her; she was getting her breathing under control, she’d be alright. Boba swung the rifle over to Merrik, the one that Ravla hadn’t known. “You going to be any trouble, boy?” he spat, voice cold. 

The human just threw up his hands and shook his head. “N-n-no, sir!” he stuttered, taking a half step back.

Boba scoffed, lowering the rifle. Walking over to Ravla, he kicked the scalpel out of her reach; he didn’t want her still panicking when he reached for her. Going down on one knee, he braced the butt of the rifle on the floor, extending his hand and cupping her shoulder. Instead of flinching away, Ravla surged up, half scrambling over the space left between them to throw her arms over his shoulders, burying her face in his neck. Her breathing was harsh and rapid, huffing against his skin as her fingers curled desperately around the fabric of his shirt.

Letting out a breath, Boba curled his free arm around her, squeezing her gently against his chest. The little whimper she let out by his ear was so quiet, such a desperate, tiny sound of relief. He grunted softly as he stood, pulling her with him. “You’re alright, little one,” he murmured, voice soft and just for her. “I’ve got you. It’s over.” 

Letting out a shuddering breath, Ravla nodded against his chest. She tried to take a deep breath, but just made herself start coughing again. As much as she wanted to stay buried in the safety of Boba’s chest, she slowly disentangled from him. “Water,” she croaked, when his arm stayed firmly around her waist. He nodded, and then released her.

“Are there any more on the ship?” Boba asked the rest of the room, taking no small amount of joy at the way the rest of the smugglers jumped when he addressed them.

“N-no, sir!” Gar said, holstering his own blaster. “It was just those three an’ Merrik we picked up. N-not that Merrik was with ‘em! S-sir.” He added the last part quickly, with a furtive glance at the younger human.

“Good. Get the bodies outside.” 

They practically scrambled to obey, and Boba turned his attention to Ulstar, the zabrak’s face twisted into a snarl of rage. He was staring at the bodies, the hand not holding his blaster clenched into a trembling fist. As Boba watched, Ulstar turned back to Timur, holstering his sidearm. There was genuine regret painted across his face, softening the edge of his anger. He vanished behind the screen, his shadow crouching down over the bed.

Seeing Merrik and Gar dragging two of the bodies out, Boba found himself drawn back to Ravla, standing at her elbow as she took slow, careful sips of water. She held the cup in one trembling hand, the other wiping at the blood splatter on the side of her face. Her whole body was trembling, he realized, her face gone ashen under her tan. Slowly, he took the cup from her hand, easing it back down onto the counter. When she looked at him, Boba felt a strange sort of lurch in his chest, like the drop in his stomach whenever his ship jumped to hyperspace.

She looked so… small. Tiny and fearful, but still painted as a warrior, the same juxtaposition of soft and sharp. This little thing, so kind and gentle with him, had lashed out with such ferocity, liked some caged, feral thing. So full of anger and fear… and yet it had melted at his touch. She had sought him out for safety, as something good and strong and _stable_.

Boba Fett had never—not _once_ —been those things.

And yet this soft young woman had reached for him, had clung to him in her fear and panic. Despite the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, Boba felt himself relax, reaching out and cupping her bloody cheek, thumb smoothing in a careful arc over her skin. Ravla let out a trembling breath against his wrist, eyes fluttering closed as she leaned into his hand.

Maker, she was _soft_. So soft that she was _dangerous_ , lulling him into a place where he wanted to _indulge_ , to take a breath beyond the vengeance that had driven him for so many years. That had been _everything_ , his every waking moment spent pushing for the next target, the next payout. But it had been years, Mace Windu vanishing into the ether of history. 

“Are you alright?” The words startled him, yanking him back when he hadn’t realized that he’d been drifting. 

Ravla blinked up at him, trying to read the stern plains of his face. He had looked… looked so _angry_ before. Like he was ready to tear out someone’s throat with his bear teeth. She could still feel the weight of his arm going around her, the warm solidness of his hold. It had pulled her away from the flurry of panic, away from the pain and fear. He had been solid and warm, and she wanted nothing more than to fall into him, to wrap herself in his arms and close out the rest of the world.

But she wasn’t blind to the body on the floor, and the growing puddle of dark read. “I’m not cleaning that up,” she muttered, tone bitter and cold. 

“I can do it, Miss Cobor.” Both Ravla and Boba blinked, looking over at Ulstar. He was standing again, a strange, apologetic sort of expression on his face. “It… it was my fault. I insisted that we needed crew to make the last leg of the trip. I’m the one that… that hired them.”

The poor bastard had never been good at hiding his feelings, and everything was laid bare now. He looked like a kicked massiff pup, shoulders slightly slumped even as he tried to stand tall. Ravla let out a breath; under all that pride and zeal, Ulstar was a kind, loyal man. But then Boba was touching her shoulder, drawing her attention back to him. She only flinched a little when his hand lifted, thumb pressing gently under her chin to make her extend her neck.

The skin was red and inflamed, sure to bruise in the next few hours. He watched her throat bob as she swallowed reflexively, face pulling in a wince. Her breathing hitched when his finger traced along the side of her neck, away from the main injury. 

“I’ll be alright,” she said, not trying for anything above a whisper.

Boba had not doubt that she _would_ be; if nothing else, Ravla was resilient. But that didn’t change the way her hands still trembled, or the fear that still lingered behind her eyes. It didn’t change the way she was unconsciously arching her body towards him, leaning ever so slightly into his touch. She was seeking comfort in its most basic form. And seeking it from _him_ , from Boba Fett.

Would she still be doing that if she actually knew who he was? If she knew who he had worked for and what he’d done? Maybe it was selfish of him, but he honestly didn’t care. He would take it all, just as he was, if she wanted to give it. 

When he touched the side of her face again, Ravla had to make an actual effort not to just turn and nuzzle her face into his palm. Boba’s hand slid around to cup the back of her neck, less tender and more grounding. “Go get cleaned up,” he said firmly. 

Taking a deep breath, Ravla nodded, squaring her jaw and straightening her posture. Maybe she imagined it, but she thought she saw a flicker of a smile at the corner of Boba’s mouth. Whether it was real or imagined, the thought of it helped keep her legs steady as she made for the sonic shower for the second time that day. She got in, clothes and all, just standing by the control panel as the fresher whirred to life.

Then her chest was going tight again, vision blurring as fresh tears welled in her eyes. Her legs began to shake, and she sank to the floor, hugging her legs to her chest and burying her face in her knees. She _tried_ to get the tears under control, she really did. But soon her body was shuddering with them, every other quiet sob triggering a fit of coughing that only made her cry harder.

It was like she could still feel the arm across her throat, and she bit her lip until it bled against a frustrated scream. She felt so _weak_. She had never been a fighter, barely knowing enough to keep herself out of trouble. But she had felt so fucking helpless in that moment, like she was _nothing_. No threat, no trouble to restrain, nothing.

She _knew_ that wasn’t right. She had _killed_ bastard. But that didn’t change the way panic had yawned open in her chest, the way her heart had leaped into her throat when the bastard had ordered Boba’s death.

Boba, who had raised arms in her defense yet again. Killed for her _again_. It shouldn’t endear him to her the way it did. But Maker… how long had it been since another person made her feel _safe_? She had been her own defense for so long, that the thought of being able to rely on someone else was painfully tempting. That, in and of itself, was a problem.

She _couldn’t_ rely on Boba, not forever. No matter how comfortable they had been getting with each other, he would be off to do… whatever it was he needed or wanted to do. And Maker help her, Ravla didn’t really care. She knew enough of the world to take what she could get, whenever she could get it. 

As soon as the realization came, it was swallowed up by another wave of panic. Another quiet sound of frustration left her, and she buried her head into her knees against a fresh wave of tears. She was angry and scared, all twisted up and messy. She lost track of time, the whine of the sonics fading into the background. She only realized that she had stopped crying when the door opened, her head snapping up.

It was Boba.

The poor girl’s eyes were red and puffy, but all traces of her tears were gone, only a few tiny flakes of blood still clinging to her cheek. She looked so _lost_ , huddled there in the corner, arms wrapped protectively around herself. Maker, he had never cared for lost things. Never cared for the hurt or scared. Maybe it was because he knew how strong she actually was, how much she had survived. 

And maybe it was just because he craved the way she gravitated towards him, the way she softened when he was near. A selfish desire for something that he’d never had and would never deserve.

With a sigh, he reached down, his fingertips just brushing her elbow before Ravla was taking his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. She tried to resist, she really did. But he didn’t object when she hugged him again, arms winding around his back and face ducking into his chest. Just saying ‘thank you’ didn’t seem right, so she took a deep breath. He smelled of salve and gunpowder.

Just about to pull back, she was startled by a hand threading into her hair, cupping the back of her head and letting her linger where she was. “Easy, little one.” That low rumble of his… It was almost like the sonics, shaking away her fear and leaving the dust to settle on the floor.

Ravla made an unintelligible noise into his chest. “You have no idea what that does to me,” she grumbled, finally pulling back.

Boba didn’t hide his smirk, chucking her gently under the chin. “I think I do, _mesh’la_ ,” he murmured. 


	7. The Lull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm has passed. But that just means that Ravla and Boba have plenty of time just to think. And what else does one think about when you might as well be the only two beings alive in the galaxy... but each other?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, just a warning; there's a CLIFFHANGER at the end. No one is in mortal danger, but... >.> I'm sorry...

Ravla flushed so prettily, a smile pulling at her lips. It exposed the split she had bitten into her bottom lip, and Boba’s eyes narrowed, his thumb swiping up. She startled at the touch on her lip, brows furrowing at the sting. But she didn’t pull away, feet rooted to the spot, still tilted ever so slightly towards him.

“Now what did you do that for?” Boba muttered.

Ravla was _intensely_ aware of how close he was, his fingers splayed out gently against the side of her neck. “It… it was an accident,” she murmured.

The soft click of Boba’s tongue against his teeth was disapproving, and Ravla had to suppress the urge to squirm, his thumb tracing the bottom edge of her lip. It was the softest thing, the touch barely there at all. And yet it had the power to erase everything else that had been burning and prickling in her mind. She could forget it all just because of the sheer _presence_ of this man.

He dominated whatever room he stood in, somehow not taking up any space yet controlling the very atmosphere no matter where he stepped. Just looking at him made it possible to forget everything else. Ravla didn’t have to maintain control when he was there. She didn’t have to read every situation for the risks and dangers. All she had to do was wait for his cue. 

She didn’t care what this was; she didn’t need a label for this feeling. It could be gone tomorrow. Something else terrible could happen, and whatever strange dynamic that had been building between them could vanish into smoke, blown away with the ever-shifting sands of the Dune Sea. It would probably hurt when it was gone, but Ravla was sure it would hurt more to have never tried and spend the rest of her life wondering about what could have been.

Especially when there was a chance that there _was_ something here, that maybe there was more than just her own touch-starved heart latching onto the strange man from the desert.

And Boba could see it all. Could see the way the tension melted out of her shoulders and jaw, and the way her face relaxed. A stiff breeze could have made her sway on her feet. Some delicate little flower that had withstood a hurricane, but now trembled in the dying winds. But Ravla was a flower with _thorns_ ; thick and sharp; barbed to take as much of her attacker with her as she could.

“You need to rest, little one.” 

He knew the little endearments made her more malleable to him, more likely to listen. It was no guarantee, but it was worth a try.

Ravla closed her eyes, a wry smile pulling at her lips. “I know,” she murmured, stepping away from him and turning towards the door. “But not yet. I’ve got to oversee the supply drop.”

“Stubborn brat,” Boba scoffed, and Ravla’s smile widened.

“You’re one to talk,” she chuckled. “I’m convinced you only survived that sarlacc and the Dune Sea there because you were too stubborn and spiteful to die.” That got a laugh out of him. An honest-to-Maker _laugh_. Warmth came to life in Ravla’s chest, and she was grinning broadly as she turned, hands folded behind her as she walked backwards out the door.

“Cheeky, too,” Boba observed wryly, and Ravla’s eyes crinkled prettily as she turned on her heel and headed back down the hall.

000

It was a good haul, with an excess of bacta spray and filters for the tank. It was more than Ravla’s usual ten percent. On top of that, they gave her half of their own kitchen’s fresh produce, as well as a busted speeder bike. Ravla was by no means a mechanic, but she was decent with machinery, and figured it was worth a shot if they were just going to sell it for scrap anyway.

Timur woke up long enough to curse and grumble, making a weak but genuine attempt to apologize. Ravla just packed him away in his bunk on the ship, and gave Ulstar a rundown on what to look out for in the healing process. By the time they left, they had a recommendation for a real doctor in the sector, and Ravla had amended their agreement that only Timur and Ulstar could come down on a supply drop from now on.

The suns were setting by the time the ship was gone, and Ravla took a moment, pausing outside her door. The lower sun was glowing red as it dipped towards the horizon, the other still lingering in hues of gold and orange. She didn’t particularly _like_ Tatooine, but sometimes it could be so very beautiful.

Boba was standing in the doorway as she turned back, and something in the way he looked so at ease made her pause again. She’d gotten a small glimpse of what he was capable of today, and yet there he stood, wearing a patched, moth-eaten sweater with stretched out sleeves. 

He looked out of place, with his strong shoulders and scarred face. The only thing that really fit him were the trousers, with as many large pockets as a bounty hunter could ask for. The sweater made him look… strangely domestic. It took nothing away from his commanding presence, didn’t soften him at the edges in the slightest. But… Ravla decided she liked it.

He just stood there, thumbs hooked in his beltloops as he looked back at her. It was almost as if he were watching some strange, unknown creature. Something curious, to be observed and analyzed. But not in a cold way. By now, Ravla knew how cold and harsh Boba Fett’s eyes could be. That wasn’t what this expression was.

“C’mon, old man,” Ravla said. “I’m not letting any of that fresh go to waste.” 

Boba followed without a word. It was a little strange, smiling without the guard of his helmet. He was more than capable of schooling his expression into neutrality, something he’d been forced to learn after an adolescence marked by a fiery temper. But he had still gotten used to the protection of his helmet, and being able to sneer at the stupidity of others without detection.

All this smiling was… new. The fact that there was _reason_ to smile was new. Though he had a feeling that Ravla could have charmed a smile out of even the most pious and insufferable of Jedi. He found himself watching the sway of her hips. It wasn’t the pronounced motion of a dancer, someone who was well aware of their assets and knew exactly how to use them. It was an unconscious thing, just the natural flow of her body and her gait. 

She didn’t walk like a killer, either, something that Boba was much more familiar with. But those small, gentle hands of hers were just as capable of taking a life as any hot-headed guild thug. And yet she got along just fine with him, words just as easily coming out sharp and biting as they did calm and soothing.

The hair on the back of Ravla’s neck prickled, and she fought the urge to turn. He was always watching her it seemed. Whether it was because he was just bored and she was the only other living thing, or some kind of genuine interest, she wasn’t sure. He could also just like teasing her. And since he had done absolutely _nothing_ untoward without her leading in that direction anyway, she didn’t object to the teasing.

But her cheeks still flushed, a shy smile on her face as she entered the kitchen. She couldn’t hear him behind her—still damnably quiet for such a large man—but she knew he was there. Walking to the counter, she began pulling ingredients from the box she had set aside. Her smile became giddy as she looked at the spread of vegetables. 

“God I would love to make a soup out of this,” she murmured. “But the only recipe I know calls for cream and I won’t spoil a good dish with that… that powdered junk.” There was real disgust in her voice, and Boba made a quiet sound of amusement. She turned and gestured at him with some kind of round squash. “Look here. Unless _you_ have a better idea—”

Boba held up his hands in a mockery of defeat. “Oh, by all means, princess,” he said. “I would never ask you to besmirch the honor of such a culinary tradition.”

Ravla blinked, taking a moment to process. “Wha—?” She rolled her eyes, clicking her tongue. “Now who’s the wordy one?” she muttered, turning and picking up her clever. She paused, turning back to gesture with the knife now. “Besmirch? Really?” Rolling her eyes, she went back to the squash.

They settled into a comfortable silence, punctuated by the heavy chop of the cleaver. Ravla knew three of the types of squash that she’d been given, and combined with some grains, root vegetables, meat, and seasoning, she had the makings of something wonderful. It would be the first hot meal she’d had in months, and she felt as if she were the wealthiest person in the galaxy just then. The grains were the most taxing part, as they needed to rehydrate. As they cooked, she heaped the seasoned vegetables into the frying pan with a little oil.

“One could live on packaged food till the end of time if one had enough garlic,” Ravla said, licking a smear of spice off her thumb. Looking back, Boba had moved to one of the chairs at the small square table in the middle of the room. “You can help yourself to anything while this cooks,” she said, gesturing at the shelves and cabinets with her spatula.

Maker, she was just so painfully sweet. She could have anyone she wanted in the galaxy. And somehow she wanted to smile at _him_ , she reached out to _him_. Leaned into _his_ touch. By all accounts, it didn’t make a lick of sense. She was perfectly at ease putting her back to him. He would call her foolish, but she wasn’t wrong to do it. He meant her no harm.

Her eyes tracked him as he got up to get himself a drink, but there was no wariness; she was just watching him. He remembered how she had moved about him those first couple of days; watchful and careful. There was none of that now. A smile played around her lips as she put a lid on the pan, moving to pull something else from the box. Boba didn’t see exactly what it was, just a flash of purple and her picking up a smaller knife.

Ravla looked down at the jorgan fruit on her cutting board, smiling happily to herself. It had been over a year since she’d tasted fruit, and even longer since there had been anything fresh. Any produce not natively grown on Tatooine had to be imported from off-world, and it was _expensive_. But now she had _three_ of the fruits, fragrant with ripeness. When she cut into it, the juice flowed down to create a sticky puddle of pink juice.

Laying the slices on a plate, she licked the juice from her fingers as she walked back to the table. “Here,” she said, sliding into the seat closest to him and pushing the plate in his direction. “It might be a _touch_ overripe, but I promise you’ve never tasted anything so good as a ripe jorgan fruit.” She plucked a slice for herself, holding one hand under her chin as she bit into it. Maker, out here, just _one_ of these could easily have gone for fifty credits.

Boba got an eye-full of a small rivulet of pink-purple juice running down her chin, and her tongue darting out in an attempt to catch it. She had to use her hand to catch the drop, pushing it back to her lips and sucking the juice from her fingers. Maybe he really was turning into a dirty old man.

Ravla watched him give her a nod of thanks, taking a slice for himself. She found herself wishing that she had known him longer, so that she might have some frame of reference for the small flicker of expression that crossed his face. She wouldn’t ask him if he liked it, already feeling giddy enough in a combination of satisfaction and fatigue.

When he took another, she smiled, that same small hint of a dimple showing in one cheek. This was… this was _painfully_ domestic, she thought again. Having this man in her kitchen, sharing a treat with her as their meal cooked on the stove. It… it wasn’t a familiar feeling. What little domestic life she’d known before this was fuzzy memories of childhood. After that, the intimacy of shared meals just… hadn’t been present in her life.

There had been plenty of bars and mess halls aboard starships, but this… This was very new. Ravla had never had much patience for _new_. Seeing and experiencing new things just hadn’t been in the cards for her. Well, she _had_ seen and experienced new things, but fighting in a fucking galactic war didn’t really lend itself to sightseeing. New had usually meant some new horror unleashed by the Empire, some awful new way of killing and hurting people.

 _This_ new… it was… soft? No, that wasn’t the word. Anything coming from Boba was never completely soft, carrying that same edge his voice did. Whatever it was, she didn’t have a name for it. She only knew that the man was like a kriffing magnet, drawing her to him like two circling stars about to collide. She realized she was smiling when Boba spoke.

“Something on your mind, princess?” The teasing rasp of his voice nearly made her jump, heat rushing to her cheeks.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, looking down as she reached for another piece of fruit. “Just thinking, is all.”

“Mm. About what?”

Looking back up, Ravla felt her breath catch, chest going tight. The look on his face had changed, mirroring the way he’d looked at her when he caught her ankle at the counter, and when he’d pulled her back to stand between his knees. She felt warm, as if her body was suddenly far too small to contain all the wild things that his gaze inspired.

Boba’s voice went lower, turning into gravel, thunder, and heat. “Tell me, little one.” There was no helping it. He might as well have been demanding she tell him with a blaster pointed at her head.

“You.” 

_Maker_ , was that _her_ voice? It had come out as barely a whisper, just a little rasp and a single syllable.

Boba leaned back in his chair, hands resting on his thighs. “Really?” As if the bastard didn’t already _know_. “What _about_ me?”

Ravla wanted to bury her face in her hands and scream. Her heart was racing, body warm enough that a fine sweat had broken out along her hairline. He had as much admitted that he knew what his little pet names did to her; what that low, rough voice of his did. He _was_ teasing her, poking and prodding and trying to find out just how much he could push before she broke.

And if she were to answer, what would she even _say_? That she found him immensely attractive and probably would have let him fuck her on the kitchen counter the day after the raider attack? That just him calling her ‘little one’ had heat turning quickly to slick between her legs? How did she say that without sounding needy and desperate?

“Thinking… thinking that you like teasing me far too much,” she said, voice rushed and quiet.

He chuckled. It wasn’t cruel or scornful, just amused. “I will admit you make it quite enjoyable.” _Stars_ , the way he was looking at her. Just a casual flick of his eyes, taking her in slowly before looking back to her face. “But I think you like it, too, princess.” Her blush crept further down her neck, ears already flushed and her breath coming a little faster. “Am I wrong?” He knew he wasn’t, but he wanted to hear her say it.

Fuck.

“N-no,” Ravla finally breathed, her brain struggling to access her normally extensive vocabulary. “But…” He didn’t interrupt with another question, another teasing phrase; just watched her, waiting for her to continue. “I don’t… I don’t know what you _want_.”

She _thought_ she did. Maker, she _hoped_ she did. But her brain was swirling with just as much apprehension as excitement. Was it too much? Too fast? Would it just end up some new painful thing that she tried not to think about when sleep eluded her? The pull to him was so intense it was almost terrifying. 

The simple answer was that Boba wanted her. Wanted to take her to bed and see just what sort of pretty noises she made as she came apart under him, as her voice broke and her back arched. And even though he did his best not to think about it, there was more. She was such a soft, good little thing. Not naive or pure by any stretch of the imagination, but…

Gentle. 

Ravla was gentle and kind, and she still wanted him. That alone was enough to draw him in, seeking the strange, new, and unknown. But since he wasn’t willing—or maybe even prepared—to examine all that, he decided on different simple answer.

“A better question,” he said, “what do you want from me?”

Ugh! There he went, tossing it back to her to keep things moving. Even if she very much liked the direction things were going, she suddenly felt so _shy_ , like some silly virgin enamored with her rescuer. In all brutal honesty, she would have taken anything from him. Any little bit of affection he wanted to give her. Maybe she _was_ desperate, maybe she was being ruled by how touch-starved she’d become. 

But that didn’t make her _want_ any less.

“What can you give me?” she asked, voice now well and truly breathless.

The look on her face was almost like a physical blow. Her eyes blown dark with want, chest heaving gently with each breath, hands fidgeting nervously on the table. Such a sweet, submissive thing. 

Sometimes, the great and powerful liked to cede their control to their lovers, to let someone _else_ take the reins for a while. Boba Fett was _not_ one of those people. He _liked_ being in control, liked to take his bed mates apart piece by piece until they begged for him. Ravla had such a pretty voice, and he found himself wondering what it would sound like, fucked out and wrecked as she said his name like a _prayer_.

As he stood, Ravla watched him, eyes wide and dark, heart hammering against her ribs. It was only a couple of steps around the corner of the table, and like this, he _towered_ over her. The muscles of her core and thighs clenched as he came into her space, bending to slide his hand across her cheek. A quiet gasp escaped her. It was little more than an exhale, her lips parting slightly as his fingers skimmed over her cheek and sank into her hair.

Her head tilted up to him unquestioningly, her hand brushing his where it braced on the table. Suddenly, all she could think of as he leaned down was how he had held her hand after waking her from a nightmare. The tug at the back of her neck was subtle, but the meaning was clear. Pushing the chair back, Ravla stood, breath stuttering as she somehow came even closer to him.

Suffering _stars_ , was this really happening?

He seemed to just be watching her now, as if waiting for some cue, some indication that he could move forward. Or maybe he was just taking her in. She was sure she painted a pretty picture, flushed from ears to chest, eyes wide and chest heaving. Then his thumb stroked a little circle at the corner of her jaw, just under her ear. It was gentle and soothing, and Ravla felt her eyes flutter shut.

She felt his nose brush against hers, his breath puffing softly against her cheek. The first touch of his lips was painfully soft; it was simultaneously everything and nowhere _near_ enough. Her hand lifted and caught the back of his neck, pulling him closer as she angled her head for a deeper kiss.

The moment he felt the flick of her tongue at his bottom lip, the kiss changed. His hand dug into the muscle of her neck, tongue pushing against hers and into her mouth. He kissed like a field of fire, like a warrior conquering the battlefield. There was no gentleness, just a burning heat of want and need that felt ready to consume her.

When Ravla bit at his bottom lip, he _growled_ , the sound low and rough in the back of his throat. A heavy hand anchored itself on her hip, pulling her flush against him. She gasped into the kiss, her free hand fisting around his sweater. His hand moved slightly, falling to her shoulder and putting her neck perfectly in the L of his thumb and forefinger.

A sharp shiver of heat jolted through her, nearly hiccupping over a strangled breath. There was no way he wouldn’t notice. Slowly, Boba broke the kiss, shifting his hand again so that his thumb curved slightly over her windpipe. A broken whine left her, head unconsciously falling back a bit, baring more of her throat to him.

Boba chuckled softly, the rough sound almost catching in the back of his throat as he stroked his thumb over the delicate skin. “Like a heavy hand, do you, princess?”

Ravla could have combusted right there in her kitchen. His words set her on _fire_ , heat prickling and tightening inside her, like some molten thing dripping searing heat into her veins and wrapping her chest tight. “Y-yes,” she breathed, unable to do anything but answer plainly.

Boba heard it as a noise of surrender, the smallest, stuttering kind of admission. The need to claim that rose up in him was purely primal; driven, heated, animal need that he wasn’t ready to unleash just yet. He dipped his brow against hers, noses slotted together.

“That’s good to know,” he murmured, lips merely a hair’s breadth from hers. “Very good.” He let his thumb stroke over her neck again, feeling her swallow under the touch. Slowly, he loosened his hold on her hip. “Go check on the food, little one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SORRY, okay? I have to pace things out, but I promise good bits are coming soon! After all, do you think I'd miss out on Ravla needing to be comforted at night after the traumatic few days she's had?


	8. Thoughtless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When a moon gets stuck in the gravitational pull of a burning star, sometimes there's no stopping the collision. And the initial crash is rarely the end of the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I rewrote the beginning of this chapter like... four times, because I wasn't sure if I was finally gonna go ahead with this, or keep it for a later chapter. But... BOBA FETT SIMPS! COME GET Y'ALL JUICE!! (also, I kinda rushed the editing on this to let me know if I missed anything)
> 
> WARNINGS: This chapter DOES contain an instance of name-calling, that could be upsetting to some readers.

Ravla didn’t burn anything. But she probably would have _let_ it all burn just so that Boba would keep kissing her. She very nearly felt unsteady on her feet, thighs desperate to clench together against the heat that had built between them. It was as if his touch had been a brand, his phantom hold on her neck and hip feeling as if they had been burned into her skin.

Her heart was still hammering as she dished up the food, giving the larger portion to Boba out of reflex. People always needed extra when they were still healing. But her mind was spinning, as if her body was still waiting on some precipice that once fallen from, there would be no getting back to again. Some… line that, once crossed, could never be taken back.

And she _wanted_ to cross that line. Maybe she already had. Hells, a kiss like that was far more than the little touches and teasing words that had already been exchanged. It didn’t help that Boba seemed… amused? Or satisfied, maybe. Like he had gotten _exactly_ what he wanted. Stars, Ravla wanted _more_.

But as she ate, the warm, hearty food in her belly began to soothe her. Her breathing calmed, and her pulse slowed. It had been… a _very_ long day. She felt her body begin to sag in her chair, and realized that she was just pushing the last few grains around on her plate. Blinking, she rubbed at her eyes before looking up at Boba. He was still eating, a cup of water at his elbow. 

With a tired smile, Ravla stood, collecting her own dishes and going back to the counter. She made sure that the leftovers were packaged up and put in the fridge, and returned to the sink. Maker, she didn’t want to do kriffing _dishes_. But after the day she’d had, she felt she’d earned a bit of laziness. So she wiped them down with food-safe sanitizing wipes and left them in the sink to be dealt with tomorrow.

Without Boba in her line of sight, her tired mind began to drift. She realized that it was heading in a bad direction when she started at the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, a fork falling from her hand with a clatter. Boba let her hear his footsteps as he approached, hand brushing her elbow. She turned, and her fatigue was written clearly across her face. She’d barely been given a chance to recover from the raider attack, and now this.

“You need to sleep,” he said.

Ravla’s eyes shifted away from him, staring down sullenly into the sink. “I _know_ ,” she muttered, her voice sounding as drained as she felt. “Don’t wanna.” With how her sleep had been after the last bout of violence near her home, she wasn’t much looking forward to sleeping after some bastard had actually put his hands on her. She could take some sleeping medication, but she hated the way it made her feel, and it gave her bad dreams even without new fuel being thrown on the fire.

“I can _hear_ you overthinking,” Boba remarked, cutting in on her train of thought. 

Ravla huffed a sigh through her nose. “Sleeping pills give me bad dreams, and drinking myself into a stupor isn’t all that appealing,” she finally supplied, fighting the urge to hug her arms around herself, knowing it would look like she was trying to put up a shield. And maybe she _was_ ; she had no idea how to ask for more of what he’d given, even if that was sounding like a _particularly_ good idea just now. Without thinking, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and promptly cursed at the quick flash of pain. “Son of a—!”

Boba’s hand caught her chin, that same disapproving sound coming from him as he watched the little bead of blood well to the surface. It was like a tiny smooth gem, dark and shining in the overhead light. It slid over the swell of her lip, hanging on the edge before it dripped onto her chin. Boba caught it with his thumb, swiping it away. Letting her go, Boba looked at the little smear of red on his finger.

Some dark part of him wanted to taste it, to see the look in her eye as he sucked her blood from his finger. But that felt like it might have been a step too far. At least for now. He watched her hand come up, touching her lip and pulling away, frowning at the tiny splotch of blood on her fingertip. “Dank farrik…” she muttered bitterly.

“Come on,” Boba said, turning and moving towards the door. “I’ll see that treated before you go to bed.”

There was no need for that, and they both knew it. But Ravla still followed after him back into the lab, clicking the lights back on. Boba was at the correct shelf before she was, plucking a small jar from one of the trays. He examined the label, turning to her as she stopped next to him. She expected him to hand the jar to her, but instead he opened it, dipping his thumb in to gather a little of the thick gel against the pad.

Her heartrate was picking up again as he set the bacta aside, stepping in and catching her chin in his free hand. “Such a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” he remarked, angling her chin up. With slow, pointed intention, he spread the gel over the gently weeping split, her lips parting with a careful inhale.

“You’re a _menace_ ,” she hissed, voice rasping with heat rather than annoyance or anger.

He chuckled, that subtle smirk of his pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I think you like it.” His voice was a rumbling fucking _purr_ , damn him. He stepped forward and turned her, making the small of Ravla’s back come up against the table behind her. 

A surprised little noise escaped her, hands coming up automatically to brace on the table. He was right, too. She _did_ like it. The bastard was right about damn near everything. With a surge of courage, she reached up, hand curling into a fist around the front of his sweater. When she tugged, Boba caught her wrist in a tight grip, the other hand tightening on her chin.

“Careful, princess,” he rumbled, feeling her shiver and watching her hand flex.

“Or what?” she shot back.

He chuckled, slow and deep. The hand on her chin lowered, curling around her throat. Ravla’s reaction was immediate, tension shooting through her body before they both felt her relax, swallowing against his hand as her head tilted back. “Or I let you in on some of my many ideas for you, pretty girl.”

It was her turn to huff a laugh, even as his grip tightened ever so slightly on her neck. Not enough to hurt, or even cut off air or blood flow. But it was enough to exert his strength, to show her his control. “That’s… that’s _really_ not much of a deterrent for me,” she said, voice gone soft and breathy, lightened with her laugh. With the way they stood, Boba had her pinned against the table with his hips. And there was just enough room for her to slide her thigh between his. She shifted her hips to an angle, and had just enough leverage to cant her thigh up carefully between his legs.

Boba grunted, grip tightening and his fingers digging lightly into the arteries on either side of her neck. The medical part of her brain mused dimly about the proper technique, but quickly faded as the rest of her mind—overflowing slowly with want like a lit and dripping candle—took control again. A soft whimper escaped her, and she let out a shuddering breath. “Fucking _Maker_ ,” she whispered.

His hand left her wrist, finding her hip and rocking her forward along his thigh. “No Maker here, little girl,” he breathed, leaning in to whisper against her ear. “Just me.”

Oh _fuck_.

This man knew _exactly_ what he was doing. He knew the sort of havoc he was wreaking through her body and mind. Her cheeks prickled lightly with the lessened blood flow, a lightheaded wave going through her. Grinding down against his leg wasn’t _nearly_ enough to get her anywhere, but the strength of him, the heat, power, and control in the act, had her grinding down against him for more of that delicious friction. He laughed again, free hand stroking her side.

Boba eased the pressure on her veins just enough, his hold on her hip still keeping her rocking softly against him. He could tell it was only teasing her, just keeping her on the edge of excitement. “You really want to go down this road with me, little one?” he asked. “I won’t be gentle.”

If she hadn’t already been on the verge of begging, that would have done it. She didn’t make a habit of broadcasting her sexual proclivities. It gave most men—and she wasn’t attracted to _most_ men—the wrong ideas about how to pursue her. And yet this man had read all he needed from their few, more intimate interactions. Read all he needed from the way she reacted to him, the way she _liked_ touching him, and how she reacted to him touching her.

“Good,” she said firmly, leaning forward and pressing her neck into his hold. She didn’t _want_ gentle. She wanted _this_ man, and there was so very little about him that was gentle. She didn’t fear him, and trusted that she wouldn’t be left in a heap afterwards, alone with the aftermath of the intensity.

Suffering _stars_ , this girl was perfect. She was all barbs and sharp words, fearless and determined. And yet she _melted_ for him, turning so easily to submission, trusting him. That trust was rare, and it _burned_ to get close to the genuineness of it. But Boba wasn’t willing to turn away, not yet. He wanted to push, so see how far she would go for him.

For a moment, he stopped thinking, bowing his head and capturing her lips with his. She tasted of bacta and the metallic tang of blood, her already pliant body going even softer as her hips rolled against him, the heat of her searing against his thigh.

“Already such a good girl for me,” he praised, watching her eyes flutter shut, nostrils flaring as she sucked in a breath. “Oh, you like that?” His hand slipped over her hip, reaching back and around to grab a handful of her ass to better control her movements. She was practically panting against him, hands now on his shoulders, balled into fists around the weave of his sweater. Boba nudged her head to the side with his nose, finally releasing her neck. “Answer me, little one.”

Kriff. Just… _fuck_. _Voicing_ what she wanted was so very far removed from just chasing it, from leaning into his touch and letting him take her wherever he wanted her. But she _wanted_ to be good for him, wanted him to call her that again. So she swallowed, taking a moment to just _breathe_.

“ _Yes_ ,” she breathed, the word taking a growling undercurrent with her vehemence. “Yes— _fuck_ —I like it. Please… don’t _stop_.”

Boba dipped to nudge his forehead against hers, rewarding her with a brief, soft kiss. “Good girl,” he murmured, feeling her whole body shake. He used both hands to stroke her sides soothingly, and she pressed into him, tilting her head forward and slotting her nose against his. “You want this here? Or in a bed?” 

“Don’t care,” she said thickly. And she _didn’t_ , couldn’t have given a damn even if she tried. 

Patience was a thing that Boba had had to _learn_. It had been a slow process, thwarted by his fiery temper and the fervor of youth. He had become perfectly capable of being patient when he wanted or needed to be. But right now… Right now he didn’t have the _time_ for patience.

With a single hand, he rucked up the skirt of her half-dress, warm fingers finding the soft skin of her stomach. Her breathing hitched at the touch, a shiver rolling over her as the dress was pushed up and over her head. There was a sudden surge of self-consciousness, but it was thrust to the side when Boba dipped his head to bite at her neck, sucking the skin against his teeth.

The way his hands settled heavily on the naked curve of her waist was electric, her whole body lifting as she sucked in a desperate breath. Yes, this. _Exactly_ this. Ravla didn’t have to think like this. Her nails dug into the back of his neck, hips rocking forward as a whine stuttered out of her. He hadn’t let up, and she knew that there would be a large, dark hickey to be seen the next day.

The thought of him marking her, claiming her in some primal way made her thighs clench, a new surge of heat and slick twisting between them. She tried to grind down harder against him, trying to angle her hips for more friction. Her frustrated whine got a dark chuckle in response, Boba’s mouth coming off of her with a soft pop.

“ _Needy_ little thing, aren’t you?” 

The teasing edge to his voice had gone sharp. He reached down and squeezed her thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh sharply, making her yelp quietly. His other hand lifted, taking the heavy weight of her breast in his palm while he bit his way back up her neck. He caught her lips with his as he pinched her nipple between his fingers, drinking in her squeak of surprise and pain.

“Is this what you want, little one?” he rumbled.

Ravla was intensely aware of how hard she was breathing. Every muscle in her body was coiled tight in anticipation, the heat in her chest attempting to burn her from the inside out. She arched her chest into his hand, squeezing her legs around his thigh. “Please, Boba. Kriff— _stars_ , yes. Fuck. Please keep going, keep… Anything.” She wanted everything he would give her, wanted to drown in the dark intensity of his eyes, to have his touch brand bruises into her skin that would be aching the next day.

Boba stroked her cheek with his hand, humming in approval as she nuzzled into his rough palm. “You beg so prettily, _mesh’la_ ,” he murmured, rolling her nipple in his fingers to feel her tense and arch towards him. “Being such a good girl for me…” Her hand at the back of his neck squeezed, smaller body almost shaking against him. Slowly, he pulled his thigh back, chuckling as she whimpered at the loss of pressure between her legs.

Untangling himself from her grip, Boba pushed her hands back behind her, and she curled them obediently over the edge of the table. Ravla bit the inside of her cheek as his thumbs hooked into the waistband of her leggings, catching her underwear as he pushed them down over her hips. She leaned back to give him room as his knees bent, pulling the stretchy fabric down her legs. 

Her soft, warm skin was pattered with the trailing stripes of stretchmarks, his fingers sinking easily against the plushness of her thick thighs. He could see the way goosebumps raced across the surface as he revealed her, the cooling air aboveground making the room nearly chilly. When he glanced up, Ravla bit her lip, cheeks flushed and warm. Carefully, Boba helped her step out of the leggings, hands stroking her calves as he tilted his head back to look at her.

She looked so innocent like this, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide, watching his every move with that same, nervous excitement. She _liked_ not knowing what he would do next, her mind spinning off with each and every possibility. Boba felt a dark curl of satisfaction at the thought, cock swelling as he crouched before her.

Ravla swallowed hard. Seeing him like this—practically on his knees before her—when she knew he had no intention of being submissive or soft, somehow made her feel even more vulnerable. Her thighs pressed unconsciously together, and he noticed. His expression darkened, almost making her choke. One large hand wrapped around each thigh, thumbs digging in at the seam between them.

“Don’t go trying to hide yourself from me, pretty thing,” he growled. His hands dug in almost painfully as he pulled her legs apart, her feet shuffling on the cold floor.

Somehow, his words and actions soothed her. If he was calling her pretty while on his knees and nearly having her on full display, she doubted that any of her perceived imperfections bothered him. When he began to stroke his hands up and down her thigh, the touch was almost reverent. Then he was leaning in, and Ravla’s head dropped back on her shoulders with a sigh as he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh.

But her head snapped back up as Boba lifted one of her legs, throwing it over his shoulder. If she had felt like she was on display before, it was nothing now. Again, she felt like some pretty butterfly, rare and delicate and trapped in the pins of a decorative shadowbox. Whatever she had expected from him, it hadn’t been _this_. And he just _purred_ , the sound humming in the back of his throat.

“Just _look_ at you,” he rumbled, thumbing the crease of her thigh and drawing dangerously close to her heated slit. For all that she lived a very utilitarian life, she kept herself quite well groomed. Boba didn’t care either way, but it was a lovely stroke to his ego to be able to see the shimmer of wetness already smeared on her outer labia. 

Ravla’s whole body jerked as his touch skimmed the edge of her, inner muscles clenching desperately. The heat of his breath on the sensitive skin of her thigh was maddening, his grip tightening like iron when she tried to rock towards him. 

“Easy there, little one,” Boba chuckled. “Be patient.”

It was an effort not to whine like a petulant child. Ravla wanted him to touch her so badly that she _ached_. If she had been feeling particularly patient, they would be doing this in a bed right now. Instead—

“Ffffuck!” The curse was drawn out and stilted, stumbling over her tongue and hissing between her teeth. The bastard had just leaned in, demonstrating his _own_ apparent lack of patience by splitting her folds with his tongue, drawing up over her clit with a slow, firm stroke.

When he lingered at her clit—catching it between his lips and sucking—Ravla’s breath left her in a punched-out rush. The sensation was sharp and intense and almost too much. Boba didn’t stop, keeping her immobile and helpless with his hold on her thighs. A few slow kitten-licks had her head dropping back on her shoulders, whispering a curse to the ceiling.

With her sufficiently distracted, Boba let go of her thigh, bringing one hand up to slip his fingers through her slick. She was nearly _dripping_ , and it was beautifully easy to press two fingers in up to the knuckle. The surprised, half-aborted moan that left her, and the way she squeezed so _tight_ around his digits made his own arousal throb, a needy ache that was getting harder to ignore.

“Boba…” His name came out broken, her voice lingering on the syllables as her hands began to shake where they gripped the table. She was becoming aware of the hard pressure she was putting on the ball of her foot, still supported mostly by Boba and just one of her own legs. Still playing on her clit with his tongue, he curled his fingers, stroking at her inner walls. Fire _seared_ along her nerve-endings, blazing through her body only to rocket back and twist tight in her core.

“Stars— _fuck_!—do that again!”

“Sound so pretty when you beg for me, _mesh’la_ ,” Boba praised, free hand now stroking gently up and down her trembling thigh. She wasn’t going to be able to stand up much longer, and he didn’t fancy staying on his knees much either, no matter how nice the view was. But he did as she asked, curling his fingers again and coupling it with a firm suck on her clit. 

Ravla’s arms began to shake, her whole body sagging dangerously. Fucking _stars_ , it felt amazing. It had been so long with only herself, only her own hands and mind to get her any sort of release. To have him on her like this was nearly overwhelming already. “I—I can’t keep standing,” she whimpered.

“Poor thing,” Boba mocked, keeping his fingers rooted in her as he stood, rising back to his full height, only to bend his head and find her neck again. The hand not between her legs kept her thigh lifted and spread. “Thinking better of that bed now, princess?”

It was meant to mock her, to tease how overwrought she already was. Ravla squirmed under the words even as her cunt clenched around his fingers as he started a slow, thrusting rhythm. “Or you could just… Just bend me over… an-and _fuck_ me,” she gasped, having to _focus_ to get the words out properly.

He _growled_ , letting her leg drop in favor of grabbing her throat. He felt her whining gasp as his fingers left her, smearing her slick over her hip. When he put pressure on her throat, she groaned softly, tilting her head back to offer more. She would let him; Boba knew that with utmost certainty. She was perfectly ready to just turn around and take him just like this, unprepared and bent over a cluttered table in her lab. 

Heat _burned_ under his skin, cock twitching almost painfully. He flexed his hands, pressing briefly into the arteries on either side of her neck. Her hold on him tightened, but she didn’t waver, just staring into his eyes, lips parted and spit slick. “Is that really what you want?” he growled, digging his fingers into the flesh of her hip, _knowing_ it would bruise. “You want to be bent over and fucked like some whore in a back alley?”

A shameful flush burned in her cheeks, and Ravla squeezed her eyes shut, nodding quickly. But Boba just laughed, letting of her neck in favor of grabbing her jaw, tilting her head and forcing her to look at him.

“Oh no, princess,” he growled, something primal and dangerous edging his tone. “You have to tell me.”

Oh sweet fucking _Maker_! It was humiliating and crude, but she was _burning_ for him, so consumed by need that it was as if her resolve crumbled to dust. “Yes—kriff! Just… Just fuck me, use me; I don’t care. But _please_ , Boba, I _need_ —”

She didn’t get to finish. His hands left her only long enough to spin her around, pushing between her shoulders and shoving her face-down on the table. His hand kept her there, the other leaving her skin to go for his zipper. When she felt the hot, velvet weight of his cock against her ass, Ravla shivered, trying to push herself back against him. That got her a sharp smack to the ass, and she yelped, body jostling the table. It trailed off into a whine as Boba soothed his hand over the sting, the warm, rough texture of his palm the perfect balance to the sudden pain.

“Please, Boba,” she tried again, softer this time. “I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

Behind her, Boba smirked, sliding his hand gently up the graceful arch of her back. “You sure you’re ready for me, little one?” He stroked the head of his cock against her folds, both of them groaning at the slick slide. Ravla shivered. She had known—in that distant, medical part of her brain—that Boba was rather well-endowed. Feeling it like _this_ , pressing teasingly against her entrance, was enough to make her tremble and clench, hips rocking unconsciously back towards him.

“P-please,” Ravla whined, ragged breathing fogging the metal table. “I can—I can take it, _please_!” She was on fire. Burning up like a Tatooine sunrise, her body practically vibrating with anticipation.

Maker, she begged so _sweetly_. Soft and genuine, need and desperation dripping from every gasping syllable. And the way she looked; pressed down on the table by his hand, completely at his mercy and _begging_ for him to fuck her, to take her from behind without care or gentleness… Boba didn’t know where the restraint came from, but he pulled the thread tight, gritting his teeth as he moved his hand from her back to her hip.

“Last chance, pretty girl,” he growled, putting a dangerous edge of warning into his voice.

“ _Kriff_ , Boba, I have the implant, just _please_ —!” Ravla’s voice broke in a sharp cry as Boba sheathed himself in a single stroke, bottoming out against her cervix as his fingers bit bruises into her soft hips. Her arms curled in towards her body, shoulders tightening as a shiver clenched her around him. Positioned as they were, she was acutely aware of the way she was stretched around the girth of him, surely more than she had ever taken.

Boba’s hands pushed further up her body, the warmth of his palms spreading out across her back. Ravla shivered when she realized that his hands were large enough that they almost completely encompassed the backs of her ribs. The reminder of just how large he was made her whimper, curling in on herself as a cry stuttered against her forearms. She felt tiny and helpless, vulnerable in the sweetest, strangest way.

“Fuck, that’s…” Her words were a whisper, some half-formed gasp that she was sure he wouldn’t hear. She let her eyes close, awareness following the gentle stroke of his hands over her back and hips. But other than that, he wasn’t moving. Maybe he was trying to be considerate, maybe he was just savoring the sensations as she was. But he wasn’t _moving_. “Boba.” She whined his name, rocking her whole body back against him.

Boba’s hands locked down on her hips, yanking her impossibly closer as a growl caught in the back of his throat. The wet, velvet heat of her was molten, her every heaving breath seeming to squeeze her down around him. There was a brief moment—little more than a split second—where he felt as if he had been cut open. Where pain and loss and _loneliness_ twisted to a burning point, sharper than beskar and hotter than a lightsaber. And in that split second, all of it burned away, that strange, soft feeling opening up inside him, tempering the blaze and softening the edges.

Lost in her own world of sensation, Ravla felt the bittersweet twist of relief. She had been alone for so long, her connections to others nearly transient. Some were meaningful, of course. But none of them set her soul alight like this moment, no other person had made her feel so twisted up and conflicted when she had never been more certain of what she wanted. 

It was barely the space of a breath between them, and was gone as quickly as it came. Boba huffed a rough laugh, thumbs rubbing circles at the base of Ravla’s spine. If she was ready to keep going, he wasn’t going to argue with her. As he pulled back, he watched her ribs expand with her gutted inhale, shoulders bunching and pushing her shoulder blades up like wings. And when he yanked her back over his cock, she cried out, the bit-out sound tapering off into a groan.

“You’re squeezing me so _tight_ ,” he growled, letting his own hands tighten on her hips. “But you’re taking my cock like you were _made_ for it, _mesh’la_.”

Ravla could _hear_ the punched-out tone in his voice, the way the natural rasp became a rumbling growl, pulled across his back teeth with each deep, careful breath. Knowing that she could do this, that _her_ body was goading such reactions from him, was its own distinct sort of pleasure. A sharp thrill of pride that made her bite a smile into her forearm, her own breath hot and damp against her skin.

When Boba leaned down, covering her with his body, Ravla pushed up into his chest, tilting her head back with a broken little cry as he _finally_ started to move in earnest. The pace he set was a brutal one, each thrust making the table rattle loudly, spearing her open and keeping her stretched tight around his girth. When his mouth found her neck again, the gentle, open-mouthed kisses were in such contrast to his brutal thrusts. Her quiet moan jolted with each snap of his hips, body trying to match his pace.

“Such a _good girl_ , Ravla…”

The praise combined with her own name—her _real_ name—somehow made the words electric. She’d only heard him say her name _once_ , and now it felt almost too intimate, like some treasure left covered so long that it hurt to bring it into the light. Ravla could feel the danger, could feel herself getting far too lost in the way he said her name, in the way his accent shaped the simple thing into something beautiful and melodic, edged with thunder and heat.

The pinch of his teeth broke her from the dangerously tender moment, her shoulder tightening as Boba sucked another mark into her skin, digging in his teeth until she whimpered. She didn’t notice when one hand left her hip, only whimpering as Boba lifted away from her back. Then his hand was circling her thigh, dipping between her legs. She jolted at the touch, two rough fingers gathering the excess slick to pull up over her clit.

Ravla jolted at the touch, her body already so overwrought that she felt an instant curl of heat low in her belly. Boba felt it too—the way her cunt clenched around him, leaking slick as her thighs began to tremble again—and chuckled darkly at her keening whine. “Such pretty noises,” he purred. “Is this what you’d like to dream about at night, pretty girl? Want to think about me shoving you up against the wall and using this sweet little cunt of yours?” He found a quick rhythm with his hand, her smaller body making it easy for him to reach around her.

Not once in her twenty-seven years had Ravla gotten so worked up from penetration alone. Somehow, those brief moments of his tongue and fingers had started a fucking _wildfire_ , her veins coursing with liquid heat and need. He fucked her deeper into it, pushing her body to its limits; the rough touch of his hands spun up her mind into the same twisting heat. She could feel him in every inch of her, in the way her chest tightened with anticipation, her lips gone dry with her ragged cries. Ravla could feel the heat building inside her, half afraid that the persistence of his brutal thrusts would throw her off. 

But Boba somehow seemed to understand, fucking her in time with the motion of his hand, pushing her into the slick slide of his fingers, biting down on her shoulder. He could feel her breathing stutter, and Ravla moaned brokenly as her whole body wound up, pushed higher and higher and _higher_ , dangling her over the edge of the drop as the pleasure finally bloomed, pushing her over the last precipice with a tight gush of wetness.

Being fucked through her orgasm drew it out, made her half-breathless whimpers stutter and start, Boba’s name gasped over and over and over again as she came down. As her mind started to come back together, she realized that Boba was slowing down, and she whined, pushing back against his hips, even as her own legs felt boneless and weak.

Boba shushed her as he pulled back, helping her to stand and turning her to face him. She watched him glance briefly behind her, as if considering, before he dipped and grabbed the backs of her thighs. Ravla’s arms flew around his shoulders as he lifted her onto the table, balanced on the edge as he guided himself into her again.

Sensitive and swollen, Ravla whimpered into Boba’s neck. “Please… please don’t stop…” She lazily hooked her ankles behind his thighs, pressing sucking, open-mouthed kisses along the scarred column of his neck. “Wanna feel you…” It was all blurring together, nothing left but heat and pleasure and the purest satisfaction. “Please, Boba…”

Something in the way she said his name was _wrenching_ , sharpening that point of vulnerability for just the space between two heartbeats. The moment broke when he bucked his hips into her again, startling a wanton moan from her lips, vibrating against his neck.

“C… c’n I… can I bite you?” Ravla gasped, words broken off and stumbling between his thrusts. “Please, I wanna… kriff!”

“Go on, little one,” Boba murmured, one hand tugging at the back of her head as he tilted his own to the side.

She made a desperate sound into his neck, her teeth scraping carefully before she bit down almost gently. But it tugged at his new scars, pulling something sharp and swooping in his stomach, his hips stuttering. His hands dropped to her hips, anchoring her in place. Her name became a growl, the heat burning under his too-tight skin, twisting at the base of his spine as color flashed behind his closed lids.

“Fffuck, _cyar’ika_!” His voice was harsh, growling like granite in Ravla’s ear. “Where should…?”

Ravla locked her legs around him, clutching the back of his neck. “Inside,” she gasped. “Insideinsideinside…”

Boba felt himself on the edge, her pleading the last push he needed. His hands dug into her, pulling her harshly against his hips as he ground against her, a whimper in his ear as she felt the rush of him spilling inside her. His grip on her thighs slowly— _slowly_ —eased, his head bowed into her shoulder, skin tasting clean and salty under her tongue.

The two of them hung there together, chests heaving. Ravla was still kissing his neck, nuzzling into the crook of it with a quiet hum. She felt utterly boneless, rode hard and put away wet in the _best_ way. “Fuck,” she muttered, voice gone rough from her cries.

Boba chuckled in return. “Mmm. At a loss for words, princess?”

He sounded breathless too, and it was that little thrill of pride that let Ravla lean back, smiling cheekily up at him as she slowly lowered her arms to brace on the table behind her. “Mmm,” was all she said, leaning back and letting her head drop. She shivered as Boba pulled away, toes curling as she felt the wet heat of him leaking between her legs.

“Wait here.” 

Her eyes were closed, but she nodded, too blissed out to be worried when he stepped away. She couldn’t have been certain that he wasn’t gone long, but it didn’t matter. Soon, he was back, stroking her trembling thighs and plying a cool, damp cloth across her sweating brow. Down her neck, along her sides, and finally, between her legs. The care in his touch would have startled her if she hadn’t been so far gone, fully able to feel her pulse throughout her body. 

“C’mon, princess,” Boba finally said. “To bed with you.”

She _thought_ about telling him how comfortable the table was, how much she liked the cool stone wall at her back. But she wasn’t going to waste the soft blanket of exhaustion that had been spun around her. Opening her eyes, she caught his, reaching out for him and dragging him into a brief, firm kiss. He stayed close until she had her legs under her, stepping back as he offered her clothes back.

“Mm. Thanks.” She waved sleepily, clutching the garments to her chest as she turned for the door. 

Boba could see how weak-kneed she felt, the way she had to carefully plant each foot, going in a half-shuffle into the hall. He could see the red marks from his hands, and could already tell which would darken into bruises come morning. He had always liked that part; seeing the evidence of his touch lingering even after the moment passed. And seeing them start to take shape on the soft frame before him was some extra thrill, something dark delighting in the way she had begged for him, to be used and marked.

He caught up to her at her door, slipping a hand around her middle and drawing her back up against his chest and startling a squeak out of her. He drew a line of heated kisses up the back of her neck, stroking her hip as she sagged happily back into him. He didn’t speak, just nipping the lobe of her ear before he let go, watching her turn in her doorway and smile at him. 

She looked beautiful. Her face was still flushed, hair falling in disheveled waves to her shoulders, brushing against the hickeys he’d left behind. If he paid close attention, he could catch the subtle tremble of her thighs, her smile soft and almost shy. “G’night, Boba,” she murmured. “I’m gonna go sleep for a week.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll see you in the morning, princess,” he said pointedly.

Ravla stuck out her tongue as she made a face at him, laughing as she shuffled back into her room, and shut the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. There's THAT. Definitely gonna be more like this... and we got a little while to go before we would touch on the Mandalorian timeline. Please let me know what you thought!


	9. Thoughtful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after, both Ravla and Boba have a few things to think about.

Waking up was a process.

Instead of being startled awake by some alarm, Ravla drifted towards wakefulness in a gradual way, rolling onto her stomach and pushing her face into the pillow. Maker, she hadn’t slept this well in…

Oh. _Oh._

Still hidden in the pillow, Ravla grinned as her memory finally caught up with the rest of her brain. That had… that had really happened. She pressed her smile deeper into the pillow, digging her toes into the mattress as she stretched. Her little hum of satisfaction scratched in her throat. Yesterday had certainly been… _eventful_. Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling, rubbing a hand over her face.

She sighed, shaking her head at herself as she pulled back the covers and swung her legs onto the floor. There she stopped, blinking down at the red-purple splotches of fingerprint bruising that stood out on one thigh. She just… stared, trying to picture Boba’s hand on her thigh again, her own smaller fingers prodding gently at the marks. The twinge of them sent a shiver up her spine, more a reminder of how she’d gotten the bruises than actual pain.

Since she’d slept naked—she’d been too tired to dress again—it was easy enough to walk over to her mirror, smoothing the mess of her hair out of her face. She winced at the sight that greeted her. A mottled bar of dark bruising crossed the front of her throat, painful and slightly swollen to the touch. The warm shroud fuzzy satisfaction was torn away, and Ravla scowled as she closed her eyes. She didn’t want Boba to think that anything he had done had made the injury _worse_.

Especially since he _hadn’t_. Boba had barely even touched her actual windpipe, the pressure he’d exerted directed to either side, on the thick veins that ran so close to the surface. When she opened her eyes again, she looked pointedly to her shoulder, where Boba had kissed and bitten. She expected something paltry in comparison to her injury, relatively well acquainted with what hickeys looked like on her skin.

But Boba had sucked a dark bruise into the crook of her neck, wide and blotchy at the edges. A small smile pulled at the edge of her lips. It was an immensely satisfying reminder of how a catastrophe could end on an incredibly pleasant note. Ravla bit her lip as she smiled, the expression widening until she felt it in her cheeks. Maker, that had been _exactly_ what she needed.

Hoping to get to the lab to treat the worst of her injury’s bruising, Ravla dressed quickly, dithering only a moment on what she wanted to wear. She settled for one of her plain, wrap around dresses, brushing her hair back into a loose ponytail before she stepped out into the hall. The fresher was running, Boba apparently taking advantage of the small allowance of real water. Ravla didn’t blame him.

Hurrying as quietly as she could, Ravla padded barefoot down the hall to the lab. Ignoring the beginning rumbles of her stomach, she went to the shelf and plucked up the little jar of bacta gel. A blush rose to her cheeks as her eyes slid over to the table. Several items had been pushed out of the way, some of them still toppled over around the cleared space where she had braced herself. Hmm, maybe she’d wait a bit to clean up.

000

Boba had heard the soft sound of a door opening in the hall. His brain quickly supplied the thought of her joining him, the image of water droplets tracing the curves of her body in the wake of his fingers coming to life with startling clarity. It wasn’t feasible, of course, not on Tatooine. But he let the image linger, remembering the heavy weight of her breasts and the plush softness of her stomach, thighs, and hips.

She was a rare sort, unfettered by propriety and shamelessly reaching for what she desired, however unconventional it might be. The thought of her flushed face and parted, kiss-bitten lips was enough to have heat stirring to life again. She had gone so happily to bed afterwards, expression the image of perfect bliss. And yet her smile had been shy; almost innocent in its sincerity and tinged with a glimmer of awe.

She really wasn’t afraid of him.

Not even that tertiary sort of fear, where someone knew he could easily kill them on a whim, and pursued him in spite of it. Ravla—now, more than ever—knew him as a killer. But she didn’t fit the type that wanted to be bedded by a man that scared her. In all honesty, Boba _should_ frighten her, or at the very least cause some stirring of anger. 

He’d over-simplified when he said that his last job had been for the Empire. They had provided almost the entirety of his contracts in the last few years before they fell. Deserters, rebel spies, valuable engineers and scientists; he’d picked up them all for the Empire. Plenty had been wanted alive, but for just as many others, proof of termination had been just as acceptable.

Boba Fett had not, nor would he ever be a _good man_. He was quite certain that Ravla suspected as much, that she had a _very_ good idea of the sort of awful things he was capable of and had done. And yet…

As the water shut off, Boba stepped away with a dismissive snort, as if trying to dislodge the thoughts. They served very little purpose. 

Purpose.

What was he doing? What was he _going_ to do, when he finally had to step out of this little oasis of calm?

His brain easily supplied the answer. Recover his father’s— _his_ —armor, and return to his ship.

But what about after _that_? What would he do with his ship and his armor now that there was no far-reaching Empire that had no qualms about solving its problems with blood and violence?

Boba had begun working for the Empire because of their extermination of the Jedi. The Jedi were the root of every moment of pain that had begun his life. Without the Jedi—without _Mace Windu_ —Boba would not have grown up alone, the only family he’d ever had or known stripped from him. Looking back, it had probably been some sort of catharsis for all the hatred and hurt that had been burning a hole in his chest.

Now that all of that was gone, what… what _was_ there?

Unbidden, his thoughts circled back to Ravla. She had been a soldier in her own way, had fought for what she believed in, put her life on the line for her purpose. Even if she eventually _chose_ to turn from it, how… how had she known what direction to take?

There was no question that she had found a new purpose of sorts. She was just living her life, just trying to make her way in the world like…

_“I’m just a simple man, trying to make my way in the universe.”_

Boba almost laughed at himself. Comparing Jango Fett and Ravla Cobor made about as much sense as asking a droid how it _felt_. But there was still that thread of similarity. Each of them simply tried to make a living for themselves with the skills they had, in a galaxy as cruel and unforgiving as they came. Jango had been a mercenary, and Ravla was a healer.

Boba didn’t think his father would have begrudged him the comparison. His father had never looked down on those that couldn’t fight. Jango knew that everyone had to find a way to survive in the universe, and no two people would ever do it the same way. 

With a huff, Boba grabbed his towel and moved back to his clothes. All this down-time was giving him an absurd amount of time to be alone with his own thoughts. Whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen. He had taken the jar of salve, and applied it to what scarring he could reach before he dressed. What remained of his hair had been shaved at some point since his rescue, and was now starting to grow back in patches. He’d have to ask about a razor.

000

Ravla was sitting at the table when Boba found her, a plate of reheated leftovers in front of her. She sat facing the door this time, and her head snapped up as Boba entered. Almost immediately, a smile pulled at the corner of her mouth, a little flush of color rising to her cheeks. “Morning.” Her voice still sounded rough with sleep, but Boba knew it was likely from the more unpleasant part of yesterday.

It was such a simple thing to say. So… normal. Boba’s life had never been _normal_.

“There’s food for you in the heater,” she said, pointing with her fork. “A minute should be enough.”

Boba inclined his head. “Thank you.” 

She smiled at him again before returning to her own meal. As he walked past, her pulled back hair and the wide neckline of her dress allowed him to see a bit of handiwork. The bite he’d left had blossomed into a dark, red-purple bruise. He felt that same possessive curl of pride in his chest. She looked so innocent and gentle, sitting there in the plain, undyed linen dress, unassuming and soft while she wore _his_ marks. Underneath, he knew he had left more, ghosts of his touch bruised into her hips and thigh.

She had put a large bacta patch across the front of her throat, and Boba felt a flicker of concern. But her voice wasn’t in bad shape, all things considered, and he trusted her judgement for her own care. He started the heater, listening to the machine whir to life. Ravla’s attention was focused on her food, almost _pointedly_ not looking at or engaging with him. Her ears were flushed.

“Sleep well, princess?” he said, just as she took a sip from the cup at her elbow.

Ravla choked, inhaling the water and dissolving into a fit of wrenching coughs while Boba chuckled behind her. “You fucking—” she had to pause for another bout of coughing, “ _bastard_!” she gasped, eyes streaming.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, bringing his food back to the table and sitting down across from her.

Ravla did her very best to _glare_ , but was pretty sure she just looked foolish. He just met her with that knowing, subtle smirk, letting his eyes drop pointedly to her neck before returning to her eyes. Then he was tucking into his food as if nothing had happened. She _wanted_ to be mad at him, she really did. Especially with how smug and self-satisfied he had looked just then. But then her eyes caught on her own mark, sucked low on the side of Boba’s neck.

It wasn’t as dark or spectacular as the one he had left on her, some of its intensity lost on his darker skin. But all the same, there it was, pressed into the space between two thick whorls of scar tissue. Her stomach fluttered, warmth unfurling in her chest as the pain in her throat faded. With a sigh, she finally smiled, shaking her head softly. 

“Maker. Who’d have thought that half-dead bounty hunters from the Dune Sea would be so _snarky_ ,” she muttered, words trailing into a soft laugh.

Boba didn’t think he’d ever been called… snarky. There were people he’d joked and laughed with in the past, of course. But none of them had been so comfortable as to call him _snarky_. Though in all honesty, he’d been a lot meaner then, too. This little woman held no fear of reprisal for snarking right back at him when he was being an ass. She… she was treating him like just another man. And while some part of him rebelled at that—he was leaps and bounds away from being any sort of normal—it wasn’t… it wasn’t bad, to talk easily with someone like this.

“And I didn’t expect little Rebel healers to be quiet so easily flustered, but here we are,” he replied.

In truth, he had expected her to be a bit more… Withdrawn wasn’t quite the word. Bashful, clingy? Any time he had dallied with someone that hadn’t been some type of warrior, they seemed to develop absurdly romantic ideas that he had simply never had the time for. But Ravla just smiled at him. True, their dynamic had changed, but her attitude hadn’t. She shot back when he teased her, still more than comfortable in his presence.

Ravla set down her fork, still smiling. “But yes, I slept _very_ well, thank you.” In truth, she didn’t remember anything after her head had hit the pillow. After that it had been nothing but blissful darkness until she awoke.

Boba tipped his head, lifting his glass. The rasp of his voice lowered, dipping into that velvet growl that was just as dangerous as any weapon in his hands. “My pleasure.” He took a sip, looking at the bite on her neck again. “Though, I suppose some of it was yours.”

Ravla’s stomach dropped, chest going tight as if the air had been forced out of her. She wasn’t foolish enough to think that he was unaware that he was an attractive man. He _might_ think of such things in the past tense now, but scars had never been any kind of deterrent for Ravla. He knew what he did to _her_ , at least, and had no qualms about exploiting it. But to have him pull out a fucking _line_ was _not_ something that she had expected. It was a _good_ line, too, heat curling low in her belly and flushing her already warm cheeks.

“Dank farrik,” she muttered, half under her breath as she took a drink. The bastard looked just _delighted_ with himself, too. “I… I don’t know how to respond to that,” she said honestly. She didn’t want him to think that she was uncomfortable, so she offered a bashful, but no less genuine smile. 

“Oh, you’re responding plenty,” Boba said. The way her voice got slightly higher, the quickened breathing and pretty blush… Not to mention she was nearly squirming in her seat. He could plainly read how affected she was by him. It was good to know that _that_ hadn’t changed much over the years.

Ravla finally felt herself relax. She had hoped that there wouldn’t be any awkwardness or regret on his end. A sudden and drastic change in dynamic—and fucking her silly over a table _definitely_ counted—could spoil new and budding relationships. Some part of her had half-expected him to withdraw, pulling away in an attempt to keep her from getting attached.

 _‘Too late for that,’_ she thought to herself. She _was_ attached. But she had lived long enough to know that nothing was forever, and to take what joy she could when it was available. If she _did_ develop romantic feelings for the man, they would eventually fade with time. All she could do now was revel in his attention while it was hers.

A few moments passed in silence, both of them eating quietly at the table, only the quiet whir of the cooler and the air conditioning in the background. Ravla lifted her head, setting down her fork. “Hey…” Boba looked up, silently waiting for her to continue. “I just… I wanted to let you know that I’m not… expecting anything. From this. From you.” She gestured between the two of them. “I know you’re going to have to leave for… whatever it is you have to do eventually. I’m not expecting anything from you other than to listen to me as far as your treatment is concerned.” Despite her best efforts, her words came out rushed and a little breathless.

Boba considered her in silence for a few moments. She really was painfully open with her feelings and expressions, almost dangerously so. “That’s very pragmatic,” he offered at last, nodding.

Ravla shrugged. “I mean… I can’t really afford to be anything else out here. And it’s always been like that, hasn’t it? For everyone. Take what good you can while it’s there. You never know when something is going to come along and kark it up, so enjoy it while you can.”

Boba’s smirk softened, and for a moment, he looked his age; tired and battle-worn. And with the way he was looking at her, eyes distant, Ravla suddenly felt very young, and very small. She wanted to ask, to question the expression that flitted so briefly across his scarred, weathered face. 

“Smart girl, _mesh’la_ ,” Boba finally murmured.

Silence fell again, and Ravla cast about for a way to continue the conversation. “Oh,” she finally said. “I meant to ask. What language is that? You… called me a few things and I was… curious.”

He could tell that she was being cautious, trying not to cross some invisible line that he might have about his past. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d met someone so considerate for others. “It’s Mando’a, from Mandalore.”

Recognition sparked in Ravla’s eyes, and she sat up a little straighter in her seat. “You’re Mandalorian?” she asked, curious despite herself.

“My father was,” Boba answered. His father may have taught him the Mandalorian ways, but Boba had never sworn to the Creed, never made any promises to the culture.

“Then you…” A thought hit her. “Of _course_. _That’s_ why you didn’t get dissolved into paste!” Boba quirked a brow at her, and she continued. “Mandalorians have beskar armor, don’t they? That would explain why you’re not blind or…” She trailed off, realizing she was staring to babble. “Sorry.”

But Boba just chuckled. “Yes, I had the armor. Though it seems to have gone missing somewhere between escaping the pit and your lab.” He made no effort to hide the undercurrent of anger that crept into his words.

“Kriff,” Ravla muttered. She didn’t claim to be any sort of expert on Mandalorian culture, but their warriors—there had been some sort of cultural divide that she was only passingly familiar with—were regarded as some of the fiercest in the galaxy. And their armor was… almost part of a religion, maybe? It had to be killing him not to be out looking for it. “Maybe I can—”

“Don’t worry about me, little one,” Boba cut in. “I’m pretty good at finding lost things.”

Ravla blinked, then narrowed her eyes slightly. “Was… was that a bounty hunting joke?”

“Take it how you like, _mesh’la_.”

“Mesh-lah?” she asked, circling back to her original question.

Boba thought a moment. “What do _you_ think it means?”

Ravla’s heat tilted, brows furrowing slightly in thought. “Hmm. Little one?”

“No, that would be _ad’ika_ ,” Boba said.

“Princess?” she tried.

He shook his head, a smile playing about his lips. “Not really a word for that in Mando’a.”

Ravla narrowed her eyes in a mocking show of displeasure. “Have you been calling me a brat?”

He snorted. “You _are_ , but no. _Mesh’la_ means ‘beautiful’.” The soft, startled sound she made, accompanied by her eyes going wide with surprise was worth any number of credits. And then the bashful way her eyes dropped to her hands, fingers curling in towards her palms was just… well, it was perfect.

“O-oh…” she said in a small voice, a shy smile starting to light her face. She wanted to ask about the other word, but any sort of higher complex thought processes seemed to have just… stopped. Fizzled out into nothing because he had _called her beautiful_. “I… thank you.”

She looked so small and soft just then, a maiden caught off guard by a suitor’s compliment. Something in it thrilled him, and he found himself a bit annoyed that he had chosen to sit across the table from her, rather than where he could have reached over and chucked her under the chin, something she seemed to like. “No need to thank me for stating the obvious.”

She seemed… startled by that, eyes snapping up to him and searching his face, as if looking for… oh. Boba Fett supposed that she might not have been seen as conventionally attractive in some circles. She was no lithe, slender dancer, nor was she a battle-hardened warrior, all lean muscle and power. There was beauty to be found in those bodies as well, of course, but her small, plump frame shouldn’t have been excluded.

“I only lie when I’m working, little one,” he finally said. “And thanks to you, I’m not going to be working for another few weeks, yet.”

Ravla… wasn’t really sure what to do with all this new information. She still felt so small, almost unworthy, even if she didn’t like thinking badly of herself. A man like him, who had likely had his pick of whatever sort of partner he preferred, thought someone as ordinary as her… was _beautiful_. Her heart was racing, body buzzing with a sudden restless energy.

“I… alright.” She’d wanted to thank him again, but that had seemed a bit silly. As much as she had wanted to know what the other word had meant—growled into her skin as she shook and clung to him—she wasn’t sure she had it in her for some other similar revelation. 

Without anything else to say, she drifted off into silence, finishing her meal and eventually drifting to the sink with her dishes. Maker, when was the last time someone had…?

Years. It had been years. Since someone had said something like that and _meant_ it. 

The intensity of the feelings bubbling up in her chest was almost breathtaking, and unmistakably dangerous. She flexed her hands, hoping that they wouldn’t shake. She took a long, steadying breath, trying to keep it quiet as she wrestled to calm herself. Part of her wanted to just jump him right there in the kitchen, while another just wanted to hide her face in her hands. But she was nothing if not resilient, and was just squaring her shoulders to turn around when a warm, heavy hand slid around her waist.

Instead of tugging her back, Boba stepped forward, fitting his chest to her back as his thumb idly swept back and forth on her hip. She was tense for a half-second before he felt her relax, letting herself lean back into him. Curious, Boba lifted his other hand, letting his fingers brush—feather light—across her bandaged throat. She didn’t flinch, breath catching as she let her head drop back against his shoulder.

“You’re really not afraid of me, are you?” he mused, fingers dropping to trace soft dip between her collarbones.

The way he said it, with his voice softening ever so slightly, Ravla could tell that it was a new experience for him. It made sense, she supposed; he was a bounty hunter, and a fierce one, by her own humble estimation. If he was as famous as she was thinking, he was probably quite used to being greeted with open fear when someone recognized him.

“You haven’t given me any reason to be,” she said honestly. “I know you’re dangerous. You could kill me easily.” He felt her take a deep breath, chest rising and falling under his hand. “But you haven't given me any reason to be afraid of you.” She wanted to look at him, to crane her head and get some idea of what he was thinking from the look on his face. But she stayed still. “Should… should I be?”

She really was so much smaller, the top of her head almost perfectly level with his chin. He shifted enough to turn his nose to the side of her head, mouth just above her ear. She smelled of bacta and something softer, something that made him think of a rock warmed in the sun, and the sweet rains that so rarely blessed the desert. Her hand lifted, almost hesitant before it folded over the one of his that had settled on her side, thumb skimming a scar across his knuckles before it settled.

“Not unless you _want_ to be, pretty girl,” he murmured, pulling her tight to his chest to feel the shiver that rolled through her. “I won’t ever hurt you without your permission.” He was many terrible things, but unwanted pain was something he did _not_ enjoy inflicting in the bedroom. _Wanted_ , on the other hand… Well, that was another matter entirely.

Ravla was starting to wonder if those few holonet articles on spontaneous human combustion might have actually been onto something. She was _burning_ , heart racing as flames ignited along her veins, like someone dropping a lit match onto a trail of fuel. Her heart was racing, chest so tight it was almost difficult to breathe. How was he so in tune with what she wanted? With the deep, dark secrets she kept within herself because finding a partner she trusted enough to share them with was nigh impossible?

“And…” Maker, her voice was shaking. “And _with_ my permission?”

The hum of satisfaction rumbled in the back of Boba’s throat, hand slipping to grip her jaw while his arm snuck around her waist and squeezed her back against him. “Well, that’s all up to you, now, isn’t it, little one?”

Stars, she would let this man do anything to her. He could absolutely _wreck_ her and she would _thank_ him for the privilege. How had this happened? How had the stars aligned so perfectly so as to drop a man like this in her lap? Was there someone she needed to thank?

“Fuck,” she hissed, eyes fluttering shut.

“Mm, maybe later,” Boba purred. “Don’t you have a lot of new inventory to go over?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absurdly proud of the flirting in this! Please let me know what you think!


	10. The Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something valuable gets left behind. People think about each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SHIT at chapter summaries. But here, have some more smut!

Ravla’s shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh. He was right. If she didn’t do it now, it would take her weeks to get everything sorted and put away, the resulting clutter leaving her with more and more mess. “You’re right,” she admitted. “But first…”

Boba let her turn in his hold, her palms landing on his chest and her head tilting up towards him. Her smile was honey-sweet, but the quirk at the corner of her mouth and the light in her eyes promised mischief. Even when she pushed up on her toes, he had to dip his head to meet her, his hand tangling in her hair as she tilted her head to slot her mouth against his.

The sweetness evaporated, replaced with a searing hunger as she flicked her tongue against his lips. It was a kiss meant to tease, a warm, open invitation full of tongue and teeth. Boba licked into her mouth, his arm going around her back. Ravla hummed softly, spinning her tongue against his and catching his bottom lip between her teeth. Her hand cupped the back of his head, keeping him close as she pushed her chest up against him. She finally parted with a gasp. Color was high on her cheeks, and her eyes were dancing, light catching on them like a sunrise on the crystal fields of Crait. 

How she managed to look so bashful and innocent after a decent attempt at kissing the life out of him was a mystery. There was comfort in her softness, in the fearless way she smiled at him with nothing but honesty in her eyes. The way she touched him almost happily. He watched her as she drifted away, her steps light. There was a different motion about her today, her posture straighter and her gait a bit quicker. Trailing behind her, Boba felt a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one feeling invigorated this morning.

And her good mood was oddly… contagious. Boba had always been fairly self-contained. He’d had only himself for company most of his life—bounties didn’t count—and having such an openly cheerful companion was… Well, it was new. Boba hadn’t expected much more ‘new’ out of life. Hells, he was lucky he’d _lived_ this long; bounty hunters had notoriously short life expectancies. But here he was, just as stubbornly alive as he had always been.

As he watched Ravla descend on the new batch of crates, he found himself almost inclined to laugh. He had pictured many things when he entertained the thought that he might live past thirty. Sitting back in an office chair while a former Rebel Alliance medic bustled about her home the day after he’d fucked her over one of her own tables hadn’t been among the possibilities. This new arrangement fit absolutely nowhere in the tenuous plans he’d had for himself, in those brief wonderings of his future might hold.

And yet here he was, warm amusement rising in his chest as Ravla moved about, muttering quietly to herself. She paused to tie up her hair, giving him a much better view of the love bites on her neck. For all that her lab was quite well organized, she moved haphazardly, starting to unpack one crate only to get distracted and start reorganizing one of her shelves. Then she would open a brand new crate and start working on that.

Ravla’s awareness of his stare drifted in and out. She knew that he was watching her, but her focus was still loosely anchored on her work. The many tasks grounded her, coaxing her out of the gleeful headspace. She felt lucky, just then. Her supplies had been replenished, with so many extras that they had to go back into a crate for storage when her shelves ran out of space.

Eventually, she came to the last crate, large and heavy. It was the biggest of the bunch, in fact. Rather than trying to move it, Ravla fiddled with the lock, crouching down on one knee as she heaved the lid open. She was greeted by a plain sheet of packing foam, covering the entirety of the top of the box. A frown knitted her brows, and she peeled it away.

“Karking bloody hells…” 

A medical droid was staring up at her. Well, the head of one, anyways. Peeling back more foam revealed the droid in its disassembled entirety, and Ravla sat down on the floor with a grunt, blinking into the box in confusion. This… Surely this hadn’t been meant for _her_. This was probably meant for an actual clinic, for a real doctor with a license and _staff_. It wasn’t meant for her little backwater practice. A ripple of guilt rolled through her. Someone would be missing this soon, and here it was, on the miserable sandpit of Tatooine.

“Kriff. I’m gonna have to call Ulstar,” she muttered, pushing to her feet. She then nearly jumped out of her skin, finding Boba standing silently at her elbow and looking down over her shoulder. “Karking—! Dammit, Boba! Make some damn noise!”

His eyes met hers, crinkled with amusement that still somehow managed to make her stomach swoop and flutter. “Force of habit,” he murmured. “Isn’t this something you could use?” He nodded to the disassembled droid.

Ravla rolled her eyes, heading over to the com system while Boba followed. “Of course, it is!” she said. “I could actually do cybernetics installations with this thing.” She cast it a wistful glance over her shoulder, dropping down into the chair. “But there’s no way they meant to give this to _me_. It’s probably a big deal to someone, and now Ulstar and Timur won’t get paid because they left it _here_.” Her fingers flipped along the console, ready to start a message that would catch up with the ship when it left hyperspace.

It was a logical assumption on her part. While Ravla was clearly able to save lives here, it was a minimal set-up. The bacta tank was the most advanced piece of equipment in the place, everything else much more rudimentary. Invaluable in skilled hands, but still. And the tank would be out of commission for a while, since all that valuable liquid had been used on dragging Boba back from the brink of death.

She really was painfully altruistic. Nearly anyone else would have just taken the droid without question. It was useful—especially to someone with medical training—not to mention valuable. And here on Tatooine? Priceless. In her position, Boba would have kept it as payment for the absolutely spectacular mess the smugglers had made of her home and her day.

She was quiet in her seat, frowning as her fingers skimmed deftly over the keyboard. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, an unconscious thing that must have been habit for her. She looked… cute. Brow furrowed slightly, lip bitten until she paused to blow a stray wisp of hair out of her face. ‘Cute’ wasn’t normally in his vocabulary. That same warm feeling lurched in Boba’s chest, and he turned away, drifting back to his own seat.

He had never had time for soft things. A warm woman could be soft, but this was… different. There was an innocent sort of normalcy to it. There was nothing complex or frustrating about it, no hidden meanings and distant agendas. Ravla took him at face value, with no scheme in her mind save for looking after him. She honestly cared about his wellbeing, wanting only good things for him. Boba could count on one hand the number of people he’d met like that. 

It unsettled him, unease sliding into his chest and tangling up with the warm comfort that Ravla seemed to inspire. Boba felt… off balance. He knew how to function in the world, knew every in and out of the life he had made for himself. He knew how the world worked, how to survive it and play things to his own advantage. But Ravla, this slip of a woman, didn’t fit anywhere in the long list of things he knew. She was an unknown variable, and unknowns weren’t something he had ever been very fond of.

The unease spread, reaching out icy little fingers to pick and prod at the warmth of her presence. What could she possibly have thought to gain by bringing him home? Measured by his standards, it made no sense. No one— _especially_ anyone on Tatooine—went out of their way for another person without some kind of ulterior motive. Even the nicest of people were always thinking about what they could gain from some act of kindness.

If she had known him, known who Boba Fett was when she found him, it might have made sense. She could have turned him into the New Republic, could have tried to seduce him into staying to protect her. Hell, she probably could have gotten a hefty sum if she turned him in to any of the crime syndicates operating in the outer rim.

But Ravla hadn’t known. She’d never even _heard_ of Boba Fett. She had just seen a man on the edge of death, and sought to help him, even if just to ease his suffering. Such softheartedness was a _weakness_. Kindness was so easy to twist, to use against someone. All you had to do was play to their _morals_ , to make them feel bad for you to get what you wanted. Boba had done it before. It was painfully easy. A little guilt, maybe a threat or two.

He had needed none of that with her. She just… helped. Because she had _wanted_ to. Because she believed, down in her very bones and soul, that it had been the _right thing_ to do. That dragging a stranger back to her home and putting herself at risk was what needed to be done. It didn’t… it didn’t make sense to him. That wasn’t how people _worked_. It just… wasn’t.

Boba’s face was blank and unreadable, something… _different_ lingering in his eyes. Ravla couldn’t place it. She didn’t know him well enough to be sure of anything. He seemed… thoughtful, maybe? She pushed hard at the rearing insecurities that rushed to provide completely useless and downright hurtful theories. She had spent far too long in life living it for other people. Too long worrying about what they thought of her, questioning everything she did and terrified that she had done something wrong.

She knew herself well enough to admit that she was attached to Boba. She _liked_ him and his dry wit and the way he carried himself around her. He made her smile and laugh like she hadn’t done in years. She _wanted_ him to like her, to at least see her as something of a friend. A wave of anxiety rolled through her, and she scrubbed a hand over her face. This line of thought would get her _no where_. If he had a problem, he would have to be plain about it. She wouldn’t put her time and energy into ‘maybes’ and ‘what ifs’.

“Well, they’ll probably reply by the end of the day today,” she said, straightening up from her seat. She leaned backwards, hands braced on the small of her back until she felt a faint pop. She let out a sigh of relief, leaning forward again to crack her neck. “Maker, what I wouldn’t give for a hot bath…” 

Boba blinked, looking up to quirk one hairless brow at her. A _hot_ bath sounded like torture in the context of Tatooine, where not one, but _two_ suns baked the planet’s surface for a minimum of twelve hours a day. 

Ravla saw his look, and rolled her eyes. “Look, I _know_ it sounds just a little insane, given my current residence, but a hot bath is _perfect_ for working out sore muscles. It’s scientifically proven.” She added the last bit with a cheeky huff, only _just_ resisting the childish urge to stick her tongue out at him.

Boba’s head tilted slightly, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back in the chair, considering her. “Mm, perhaps. I’m more familiar with… manual methods of relaxation.” His voice slipped low, rolling over the vowels and catching at the edges of words.

Warmth rose in Ravla’s cheeks, a shiver prickling its way down her arms. Was he…? Her eyes narrowed at him slightly. “Well… there _are_ plenty of methods.” She took a few steps towards him, careful and deliberate. “Perhaps you’d elaborate, to help me understand?”

The smirking curl of his lip was as incendiary as any match, catching on the kindling of her curious arousal. His stance shifted, knees spreading wide. The raw power he exuded with just a simple motion was immensely unfair. It made her feel vulnerable and small, like she was just some pretty thing that had caught the eye of a king. It nearly made her want to fall to her knees, to crawl to him, to have him lift her chin in his hand to make her look at him.

Instead, he reached out, curling his fingers towards himself, beckoning her. His other hand patted his thigh invitingly. “Come here, little one,” he purred, and Ravla could have died right there.

The low pitch of his voice and the confident quirk of his lips left no doubt in Ravla’s mind that he expected to be obeyed. But it hadn’t been a command. It was a _suggestion_ , a request edged with the heated certainty of her compliance. Some part of her wanted to balk, to pull against the loose reins he had snared her in with some smart remark. To goad him into _making_ her comply.

Another time.

Ravla crossed the room, pausing briefly before she stepped between the spread of his knees, thick thighs bracketing her own wide, soft hips. Boba’s smirk widened, one hand slipping around her waist. “There’s a good girl.” He tugged, pulling her chest up against his. The height of the stool put them at eye level, and he allowed himself a moment to just take her in.

That same smile—equal parts shy and eager—pulled at her plush lips, pushing into the freckled roundness of her cheeks. Her squared off jaw softened at her delicate chin, which he caught between his thumb and forefinger, just to watch her lips part with a gasp, pupils blowing wide. She looked so innocent, and yet somehow already debauched, wavering in his hold as if she fought the urge to just sag against him.

“You’re such a submissive little thing,” he mused, thumb stroking over her lips as his hand flexed on her waist. Ravla made a muffled mewling sound, eyes sliding away. Boba tightened his hold. “Don’t look away from me, _mesh’la_.” He liked watching her. She was so expressive, every little thought and feeling playing across her soft face in detail. “You _like_ being told what to do, don’t you?” His voice was growling again, as if it began deep in his chest and rumbled up to be spun into that seductive rasp behind soft lips and perfect, white teeth.

It was suddenly an effort just to focus on her breathing, and Ravla nodded stiffly. The heavy eye-contact was almost too much, her eyes begging to slide shut so she could just _feel_. But he had wanted her to _answer_ him last time, to speak her desires into reality, something real and tangible to be seared into memory. She took a slow, trembling breath.

“Yes,” she breathed. “I don’t… I don’t have to think.”

Boba hummed softly in understanding. People in control of their own lives often sought a way to just let go, to stop making decisions and hand control over to someone else. He _liked_ being that someone else, liked being the one to just take another person apart, to shatter them and gather the trembling pieces in his hands.

“Good answer,” he praised, feeling her lean closer, melting into his touch as her shaking hands lifted to brace against his chest. “I don’t think that’s _all_ you are, though.” His hand stroked over her cheek, sliding into her hair. “That smart mouth of yours follows you into the bedroom, too, doesn’t it?”

Ravla flushed at the all too accurate assessment. Her breath was coming faster now, her arousal like flames licking the inside of her ribs. “W-would you like that?” she murmured.

Hand cupping the back of her neck, Boba’s grin took on a wolfish edge, sharp and promising. “Putting a little brat in her place?” His other hand dropped to her backside, squeezing a handful of her ass as he yanked her forward. “Pushing you until you _begged_ for me to fuck you?” He hummed, the sound vibrating into a deep, nearly possessive growl. “I’d love nothing more, princess.”

His hold on her gentled, nails dragging lightly against her scalp. The sound she made was so soft and contented. He liked this too. Liked the way she seemed to crave him, scars and all. The way she melted at the touch of his rough hands, nuzzling into him as if he were the finest silk.

“But not tonight,” he finally said. “Come with me.” He stood, moving her back and catching her wrist in one hand. It was a firm hold, but not something that Ravla couldn’t break out of. It was the easiest thing in the world to follow Boba willingly, to just let him lead her out of the lab and into the hall.

It was like her brain had stopped working entirely, emptied out until nothing remained but thoughts of him. She wasn’t paying attention to anything else, just letting his firm grip on her wrist guide her after him. Everything outside that moment slipped away, going fuzzy at the edges until her excitement eclipsed it entirely. Then it all snapped back into focus as the door to her room slid open, and Boba pulled her inside.

The door closing behind her was like a jolt, her spine tensing up and making her posture straighten and lifting her eyes to Boba’s face. He cupped her jaw in his hand, taking in her lidded eyes, flushed cheeks, and gently parted lips. Her pupils had blown wide, darkening her eyes nearly to black. Her chest rose and fell with quickened breathing, hands flexing at her sides.

Boba smirked, hand slipping to the back of her neck as he pulled her in, dipping his head to speak against her ear. “Get undressed, and lay face-down on the bed.” The barest caress of his lips against the shell of her ear made Ravla’s breath hitch, the sound morphing into a little whine at the growling command. He stepped away from her.

Taking another steadying breath, Ravla stepped forward, stopping at the edge of her bed, back turned to Boba. Without turning, she slowly undid the sash at her waist, letting it drop to the floor. Then came the ties holding her dress closed, the garment falling open in the front. Another little jolt went through her, and she paused. This morning, on a whim, she had ‘forgotten’ to put on any underwear. 

She was caught between embarrassment and a spike of heat, thinking of Boba’s reaction. Biting a small smile into her bottom lip, she undid the front clasp of her bra, peeling it and her dress over her shoulders to pool around her feet. Without looking back, she crawled onto the bed, making sure to lay the top half of her body down first, pushing her ass into the air for a brief moment, knowing that every inch of her was on display. 

As Ravla settled on top of the blankets, she realized that she couldn’t hear anything. The room was as silent as the grave, her own breathing seeming impossibly loud. She had no idea if Boba was still standing near the door, just watching, or if he had already followed after her, looking down at her naked back from above.

Boba most certainly _had_ noticed. But he held that thought for a moment, his eyes tracing over the scars on her back. They were harsh things, cutting diagonally down from her shoulder, skipping briefly over her spine to peeter out on the other side in pointed red slashes. Even long healed, they were raised and angry, puckering the skin around them. He felt the sudden urge to touch them, to trace their path with his fingertips. But he quickly redirected his thoughts back to their original path.

A warm, rough hand cupping her ass gave Ravla her answer, and she sucked in a quick breath, head turning to the side to catch sight of him in her periphery. “Forget something this morning, princess?” Boba rumbled, following the bottom curve of her ass, fingers drawing dangerously close to her slit before pulling away again. “Or were you thinking about me?” That smug little upturn of his voice made her shiver, his hand tightening in a squeeze as the bed dipped with his weight.

“Y-you,” Ravla stuttered out, almost glad that she couldn’t look him in the eye from this angle.

Boba’s hand stroked up her back, pressing in gently as he felt along her spine. “And what about me, pretty girl?” His thumb swept in a circle over a small knot under her skin, as if making note of it before he continued on. He felt her shift under his hand, as if trying to keep from squirming. “You know I expect an answer.” He dug his thumb briefly into a tight spot, making her gasp and wince.

Ravla wanted to bury her face in the pillow, her hands already clutching it like a lifeline. “That… that maybe if you wanted to have fun again, you’d…” 

Maker, was she actually _saying_ this? Speaking such things aloud—even if she hadn’t even blushed to think them—made her body want to twist with heat and tension, pulse racing and chest tightening around her racing heart.

“That you’d… have easy access,” she finally finished, cheeks positively _burning_.

Boba’s hand resumed its gentle stroking, feeling over Ravla’s back and shoulders, prodding here and there in assessment. He hummed softly, as if in consideration. “Mm. You like the idea of me just pushing up your skirt and fucking you, don’t you, little one?” He leaned his weight on one hand, pushing her down into the bed as he climbed over her, straddling her thighs and pinning her with his weight. “Just taking whatever I want, _wherever_ I want?”

Now Ravla _did_ burry her face in the pillow, nodding. “Yes.” Her voice was a whine, half strangled by every tight, shallow breath. He was _heavy_ , but in the _best_ way. The pressure didn’t grind or pinch uncomfortably, hands braced against the bed on either side of her as he leaned down. The loose fabric of his shirt skimmed her back, just a whisper of friction to tantalize her senses.

A slow puff of breath rolled warm across the back of her neck, calloused fingers brushing over her skin as Boba pulled her hair to the side. He traced his nose along the curve of her shoulder and neck, feeling her little body shiver beneath him, head craning to the side to expose herself to him. Her knuckles had gone pale with the force of her grip on the pillow, and as he rested a hand on her side, he could feel the rapid expansion of her ribs as she breathed.

“You look good like this, _mesh’la_ ,” he murmured. “Laid out like the perfect little plaything.” With a teasing scrape of his teeth, he sat up again, bracing the heels of his hands on her shoulders and digging his thumbs into the twist of tension at the base of her neck.

Ravla groaned softly. Of all the things she had expected a bounty hunter to be good at, this hadn’t been one of them. He wasn’t gentle, but his motions were anything but clinical. His rough hands caught slightly on the softness of her skin, rolling the muscle and digging in until it softened under his touch. Ravla let out a muted, pathetic sound, more of a gurgle than anything else. Her body was turning to liquid, molded into something warm and soft under Boba’s hands.

But her brain rudely intruded as his hands moved outwards, one palm skimming over her scars. She didn’t startle or speak, but Boba still felt her body tense briefly under him. His hand retreated. “Do you not want them touched?” he asked. He was no stranger to scars, and knew that the stories that went with them were sometimes better left in the dark.

Turning her head to the side, Ravla sighed softly. “No, it’s alright…” she murmured. “People usually just… they avoid them.” She took another breath, eyes closing as she focused herself. His newest scars were not his first, plenty more laid beneath the whorls of the burns and across the rest of his body. If anyone were not to judge her, it would be this man.

Boba was curious. He’d always been like that, looking to learn something new and adding it to his already extensive knowledge. But he knew when to temper it, when to stop asking questions and just move on. So that was what he did, digging his hands into Ravla’s back as he worked through the tension she carried in her shoulders and lower back. 

It wasn’t long before Ravla’s thoughts faded into nothing again, eyes drifting shut. She felt boneless, floating. And yet she lingered on the edge of something, like a cup over filled, liquid domed at the top, ready to spill over at the slightest shift. Her breathing picked up, awareness sharpening at the way Boba’s hands—both warm and gun-calloused—spanned the entirety of her lower back. 

A slow shudder rolled through her. Ravla hadn’t been skinny in a long time, and had long since become used to her bigger frame. She was used to being shorter than others, but never _small_. Boba… he made her feel tiny, like some delicate waif being tossed about like a _toy_. Maybe that thought shouldn’t have excited her, but she really didn’t karking care. All she cared about was the growing, heated slick between her thighs, and the growing hardness pressed up against her backside.

When his hands finally moved lower, grabbing handfuls of her ass, Ravla pushed up into his palms, doing her best to grind back against him. She would have spread her legs wide if he hadn’t kept them pinned together with his own. The dark chuckle above her made her squirm, biting her lip to the point of pain. “Something else you want, princess?” he murmured, thumbs skimming the crease where her thigh met her backside.

“Want you to touch me,” Ravla muttered hotly, trying to rock up again, to get his fingers where she wanted.

But Boba moved with her, keeping his hands exactly where _he_ wanted them. “I _am_ touching you,” he said, aggravatingly smug.

Ravla growled softly into the pillow, frustration adding to the burning heat in her cheeks. “ _Please_ ,” she whispered harshly, knowing the words she needed but finding them caught behind her teeth. 

Boba just hummed, squeezing her thighs before he took hold of her hips, holding her steady as he rocked himself against the plush curve of her ass. He let out a low, humming growl of satisfaction, his thighs squeezing her in place as he took a moment for his own pleasure. Ravla wanted him to fuck her like this, held down and soft, to use her like he’d said, like she was a _plaything_. 

“Boba.” Her voice was rough, punched out and dripping heat like liquid fire. “I want you to fuck me.” The admission came out as a groan, desperate and pleading as she rolled her ass up to meet the grind of his hips. He went still, grip tightening on her hips. “Please,” she pressed. “I… I’ll be good for you. Do whatever you want, just _please_ fuck me.”

The rawness of her words turned to a sharp bolt of heat, shooting down Boba’s spine and making his cock twitch painfully. She spread herself like prey, supplicating herself before a hunter in a desperate bid to win his favor. It thrilled him, brushing like a whisper over his predatory instincts. He leaned forward, letting her body take the majority of his weight as he nuzzled into the side of her neck, the gesture sharpened by the pinch of his teeth. Ravla shuddered beneath him, immobilized by his bulk. Maker, it felt _good_ , stretched out under his weight with his mouth on her skin.

“You like playing with _fire_ , pretty girl,” Boba growled. His hands slid up her arms, catching her wrists and gathering them together with one hand, pinning them above her head. “Do you have any idea the things I want to do to you?”

Ravla’s hands flexed in his grip, not trying to get away, but testing, feeling the restraint and how truly helpless it made her. “No,” she grunted, breathing tight under his weight. “Show me.”

The bluntness of her words clenched inside him. Her voice was open and rough, body pliant and nearly liquid beneath him. It licked like tantalizing flame, catching on the edges of the darker parts of his desire. His hand squeezed at her wrists, making her gasp. “You need me to stop, you say ‘Kamino’,” he murmured. “Understand? Say it back.”

Oh. A… a safeword. Renewed heat flushed through Ravla, resulting in a heated pulse between her legs and the dribble of fresh slick. “K-Kamino,” she rasped.

“Do you want to stop?” He lifted off her, bracing himself on her restrained wrists, the other stroking down her back.

“No.”

“Good.”

His head bowed, biting down on her trap muscle, teeth digging in hard enough to make her cry out, body going rigid with the sharp pain. But layered against the heat buzzing beneath her skin, pain and arousal twisted together, breaking her cry into a groan at the end, the sound stilted and broken. The pressure of Boba’s teeth eased, tongue laving over the tender skin before he sucked it into his mouth. At the same time, his free hand skimmed down her side, deceptively gentle.

At the pressure of his knee, Ravla spread her legs, letting Boba move to settle between them, knees spreading her legs wide and his hand guiding her up onto her knees. When he released her hands, she kept them above her, grabbing fistfuls of the pillow. With both hands free, Boba stroked his hands over her sides, just watching the expansion of her ribs with each quick inhale and exhale. She was trying to calm herself, to stay centered, but every other breath would stutter, catching on something.

Sitting back on the balls of his feet, Boba spread her open with his hands, thumbs catching on her slick outer lips. “Stars, girl…” She was already _soaked_ for him, slick stretching between his fingers and clit plump with arousal. He swirled a finger around the little jut of nerves, watching her body lurch forward, entrance clenching on nothing.

Keeping her spread, Boba pushed two thick fingers into her, drinking in her sharp inhale, the exhale gone breathy and fluttering with pleasure. She clenched around his fingers, her own breath hot against her face as she turned it into the pillow. But then Boba’s hand was in her hair, balling into a fist and turning her head to the side again.

“I want to _hear_ you, little one,” he purred, coming up to kiss along her throbbing shoulder. He punctuated his words with the beginnings of a slow, thrusting rhythm between her legs, feeling her clench again with a fresh well of slick.

“’M sorry,” Ravla mumbled, voice gone high and breathy. Boba turned his hand, the motion alone enough to make her whine. Then he curled his fingers down towards the bed, keeping them hooked as he kept his pace. Ravla’s entire body curled inward with a groan, back bowing as a curse died on her lips.

Smirking in approval, Boba parted from her neck with another sharp nip, sitting back on his heels. Still working his fingers inside her, his other hand came up to her clit, catching it between his middle and pointer fingers, squeezing and rolling it up and down. Her soft thighs clenched, as if she fought the urge to press them together.

He worked slowly, drinking in every breathy little exhale, every sighing moan. Her toes curled against the blankets on either side of his knees. He appeared to be content with that, just working her over slowly, deliberately. Ravla could feel the beginnings of sweat along her hairline and down her spine, the heated coil of her pleasure centered tight around her core, twisting tighter and tighter with each rock of his hands.

Just as she was starting to ascend the peak, Boba pulled away, a delayed whine breaking from her when she realized that he had stopped. He just chuckled, grabbing her hips and flipping her onto her back with a soft grunt. He took a moment to look at her then. Everything had been so rushed the first time, all needy hands and desperation for touch. Her heavy breasts heaved with each gasping breath, hands balling into fists at her sides, eyes gone dark as she stared down at him.

Leaning down, Boba kissed the inside of her knee. He lowered himself as he kissed higher, leaving teasing pinches of his teeth between slow, sucking kisses. When he was prone between her legs, Ravla dropped her head back to the pillow with a whimper, wanting to rock her hips up to him but forcing herself to keep still. She _did_ want to be good for him, to please him.

His nuzzle at the crease of her thigh was painfully tender, hands cupping her hips to pull her closer. The first swipe of his tongue was teasing, just a flick through her slick to taste her. His growl of satisfaction made her clench and shiver, his desire palpable in the suddenly heated air. Warmth rolled through Ravla from head to toe, heat curling in the soles of her feet as he came back with a firmer lick, practically grinding the flat of his tongue against her clit.

It made her jolt, hips bucking up before the iron grip of his hands forced her back down into the bed. He worked at her like a man starved, parched and desperate for just a taste of her. When a sly hand came up to roughly tweak a nipple, she gasped, one of her own hands flying down, cupping the back of his head. The faintest prickle of new hair growth tickled her palm, Boba’s fingers digging bruises in her thighs.

He didn’t bother with gentle flicks with the tip of his tongue, instead grinding the flat of it directly against her clit with firm, upwards jerks. It had her rushing up to the edge of release in moments, her nails digging into the back of his head, other hand fisted in the blankets beneath her. Every other breath became a stuttered little cry, her thighs tensing and bunching. Then his fingers were pressing into her again, curling against that spot inside her.

It was as if his name was _wrenched_ from her, a gasp of sound torn from the back of her throat as her entire body _clenched_ , hips pushing up against Boba’s restraining hold. She was panting, the warmth of her body swirling and tightening to a burning point in her core. She was soaring, drawn up a steep incline that she _knew_ was going to end in a sharp, sudden drop. Ravla called his name again, grinding against the flat of his tongue as a sudden pressure pulled down in her pelvis among the pleasure. Some distant part of her was panicking, trying to match the pleasure roaring through her with anything that she had known before… and coming up empty.

Boba could _feel_ her coming undone, cunt fluttering around his fingers, his other hand dug into the thrumming pulse of her femoral artery. He could have stopped, could have edged her. Her broken wail of frustration would be so sweet, the way she thrashed, trying to grind herself out on his tongue… But he was lost in her, lost in the salty-tang taste of her arousal, in the way her small, soft hand clutched at him, hips thrusting weakly against his mouth.

He crooked his fingers and thrust hard, and Ravla felt herself drop, breath stuttering to a halt as everything stretched tight, body teetering on the brink. Her nails bit into his skin, hips thrusting helplessly, the pressure pulling it all out, yanking her down and over. Her breathing stopped, everything sharpening to a burning point that was almost _painful_.

Words rumbled against her, something soft and indecipherable. Ravla felt as if the world shattered around her, breaking her into a thousand pieces that all fell into Boba’s hands, clutched close and formed into something more. Boba growled into her, working her through it and drinking up the absolute _gush_ of wetness. Her back arched, mouth working soundlessly until she was dropped back into her body, suddenly acutely aware of the pure _excess_ of slick sliding against Boba’s cheeks on her inner thighs.

Boba said something she didn’t understand—probably Mando’a—as he looked up, eyes locking with hers as he reached up to push his fingers into her mouth. Ravla groaned, sucking them clean with a bob of her head, eyes fluttering shut as her tongue slipped and curled along the rough pads of his fingertips. They slipped from her mouth with a pop, and all Ravla could think about was kissing him.

But then his mouth was on her _again_ , rocking the slick muscle of his tongue against her swollen clit. She whimpered, hips trying to twist away before they were locked down in that vice-like grip of his. “Boba—!” It was too much, too soon, the pleasure bordering on pain. He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. As wound up as she was, her peak was already rushing up to meet her, faster than before. She was right at the edge when he pushed his fingers into her again, mouth going still long enough for her to fall back from the precipice with a weak growl of frustration.

“Come on, princess,” he murmured, crooking his fingers and starting to thrust into her again. She was practically dripping, slick smeared along her inner thighs and leaking slowly from her cunt. “Be a good girl and come for me again.” Then he was devouring her in earnest, using the same solid, upward drag of his tongue.

Ravla didn’t know if it was because of what he said, or the fact that she had been so close only a moment ago. But she felt herself unraveling, back arching and color bursting behind her closed lids, a ragged cry wrenched from her as she came for him again. Boba purred in satisfaction, keeping his fingers in deep as he turned his head to lay a kiss on her inner thigh. On either side of his head, her legs were trembling, sweat gathered at the back of her knee and the crease of her thigh.

She said his name again, whimpered and soft. It immediately turned into another high cry as he went in a third time, his hand like a vice on her hip. Her thighs clamped around his head, as if she were unsure if she wanted to twist away or keep him _exactly_ where he was. A punched-out groan left her as he slipped a third finger into her, cunt still clenching down _tight_. Every other breath was a cry, hands curled into desperate fists around the blankets.

Ravla was soundless when she came again, breathing grinding to a halt as she hovered on the edge of bliss before _crashing_ down, body gone boneless and trembling. Boba finally relented, coming up into a sitting position between her legs as she sagged back into the mattress. She looked _wrecked_ , her hair splayed out in messy waves around her head, stray wisps clinging to her sweat-soaked brow.

When she wordlessly reached for him, Boba chuckled, leaning down and letting her pull him into a desperate, sloppy kiss. Her hands fisted in the shoulders of his shirt. “Off,” she grunted, tugging.

Boba had never been shy of his body, even as he aged. He had grown thicker around the middle—maybe even a little softer—but he had lost none of his strength, none of his ability to destroy an enemy with his bare hands as easily as with a blaster. He heard a few stitches pop as he yanked the offending garment over his head, sitting back on his heels again, smirking gently as he looked down at her. Eyes locked on hers, he used his thumb to pop the button of his trousers, watching her swallow hard and pushed them down just enough to free himself, fisting his cock with a few firm strokes.

“You’ve been very good for me, little one,” he said, one hand stroking her trembling thigh. “I think you deserve a reward.”

 _Stars_ , the way he said it… Ravla’s toes curled, and she nodded eagerly. “Please.” It was all she could manage, brain a scrambled mess of satisfaction and renewed need.

Boba lifted one of her thighs, spreading her legs around him as he rubbed the head of his cock through her sodden folds. Ravla made a small keening sound, pushing her hips up in invitation. A growl rumbled in the back of Boba’s throat, his hips rolling against hers. A quiet little gasp left her as he pressed inside, the stretch sharp and perfect even with his careful preparation. His rumble of satisfaction thrilled her, but the sound was lost in her cry as he abruptly bucked forward, sheathing himself with one hard stroke.

She grabbed for him, short nails biting into his thick shoulders. She _liked_ it when he did that, the sudden rough thrust making her body tingle and her toes curl. When he started moving, she cursed. How a person could be both slow _and_ rough wasn’t something she had ever contemplated. Each time Boba pulled back, he was slow, letting her feel every inch of him, giving her a chance to squeeze down on the delicious stretch. Then he would _slam_ back in, jerking her entire body and making the bed creak softly.

Like this— _looking_ at him—was _miles_ different than the first time. Like this, Ravla could see his eyes, the way they swept over her again and again, dark and hungry and consuming. He let go of her leg, leaning forward to brace his hands on either side of her. Ravla grabbed for his shoulders, the next thrust wringing a broken curse of pleasure from her lips. She could _feel_ the power of him, the strength of his body. One of his arms slipped under her, pulling her up so he could bite down on her shoulder, hard enough to bruise.

She whimpered, but cupped the back of his head to _keep_ him there, the pain quickly tangling up with the pleasure rolling through her in waves. He was sucking on the bite now, pulling it hard against his teeth in what was sure to be a spectacular bruise. Boba growled. He had felt her clench down on him when he bit her. The way she held him in place, head arched to the side in acceptance and invitation… She _liked_ it, wanted more. 

Something inside him snapped, but he was able to catch hold of his restraint by the last thread. “You remember your safeword?” It was a growl in her ear, a desert-dry rasp that made her shiver.

“Y-yeah,” she gasped, still holding him close. “Ka-Kamino. Don’t stop. Please.”

Boba nipped sharply at the side of her neck. “Hands and knees, _cyar’ika_.” He pulled away, slipping out of her with soft, wet sound.

Ravla scrambled to obey, rolling onto her stomach and pushing her ass into the air, spreading her legs for him, and moaning brokenly when he thrust into her again. His hands dug _hard_ into the softness of her waist, yanking her back against each brutal thrust. There was nothing slow about his movement now, the head of his cock striking against her cervix with every stroke. She cried out sharply, only barely remembering not to muffle herself into the pillow. 

He felt so much _bigger_ like this, like he was splitting her in two without even a whisper of pain. She clenched herself around him, just to _feel_ him, and he snarled what could only have been a curse behind her. “ _Stars_ , girl…” His own voice was ragged, sounded almost as wrecked as she felt. “You have any idea how good you look like this? With that pretty little cunt of yours all spread open on my cock…” He drove home a particularly vicious thrust, chuckling at her moaning cry. “You just _love_ getting used like this, don’t you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ravla gasped, hands balled into fists. It was what she imagined riding a hurricane must feel; helpless against the current and just borne along for the ride. She was drowning in it, pleasure twisted hot and sharp in her belly. “Fuck, _Boba_ …” She didn’t have the words, she didn’t have _anything_ but the blissful feeling of submission, mind almost drifting off into it.

When his hand reached down, slipping over one thigh to delve between her legs, she lurched, clit oversensitive and almost _painful_. But Boba didn’t seem to have any mercy left in him. “Wanna feel you come on my cock,” he purred, leaning down to speak into her ear, hips still hammering into hers. “C’mon. Just one more…”

She _couldn’t_! It was too much, body fighting something close to panic as the heat was wrenched down her spine, sharp and bright and _agonizing_. But then Boba was kissing her neck, soft and painfully gentle. “Easy, little one,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. Just let go.”

And she did. Ravla let herself drop into the current of submission, swept away by heat and need. She made a quite sound, so soft she barely felt the noise in the back of her throat. And she shattered. Boba felt her _gush_ and clamp down around him, nearly screaming as he fucked her through it, chasing his own release as he bit into the back of her shoulder. The spike of pain only made her clench tighter, his own orgasm ripped from him like a slug-thrower shot.

He held her there, grinding his hips into hers, a whimper leaving Ravla as she felt him twitch inside her, flooding her with heat. They both hung there for a moment, panting hard, Boba’s breath hot and ragged on the back of her neck. When he let go of her, she slumped into the bed, shivering as he slipped out of her. She could feel his come leaking out onto the bed, but she was too blissed out to care, drifting back to the surface.

Boba’s weight shifted, and then the bed dipped beside her. Ravla made a quiet sound as she scooted over to give him room, kicking her legs out straight behind her. A warm, broad arm draped over her back, Boba’s hand curling around her side, thumb moving in slow circles. She wanted to turn to him, to open her eyes and face him. But suddenly she felt crushed under the weight of intimacy. She hadn’t let herself drop like that with someone in _years_. She hardly knew him, and he hardly knew her.

But the weight of his arm and the gentleness of his touch was _comforting_. Without turning her head, she scooted closer to him, her side brushing up against his chest. He hummed softly, as if in satisfaction, rough fingertips tracing random patters on her overheated skin. This was _bliss_ , it was _perfect_. It was everything she could ever want and it was _too much_. But she didn’t shy away, sighing happily.

She could fall asleep like this, she realized. Even without the absolutely mind-blowing sex. She could easily fall asleep with Boba’s arm wrapped around her, both of them cradled in the familiarity of her own bed.


	11. Afterglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the Afterglow, Ravla discovers that another visitor is on the way, and realizes something very important.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter everyone! And hello to those of you who came over from tiktok! This is a more feelings heavy chapter, plus doing some foreshadowing. Peep those new character tags!

As it turned out, Ravla didn’t sleep. She just drifted, perfectly relaxed and yet totally aware of her surroundings if she focused. Boba’s hand kept moving on her back and side, tracing rough fingertips over the softness of her skin. It was so soothing, the perfect counterpoint to the soreness settling slowly into her limbs. It was different from before, muscles aching from exertion rather than being wound up tight with tension.

The weight of Boba’s arm was a warm, welcome comfort, the casual touch of his slowly dancing fingers letting her eyes flutter shut, smiling with her face still turned away from him. She could still hear his breathing, and it was the need to see him that made her finally turn. A flush was barely visible under the warm brown of his skin, broad chest rising and falling as his eyes slid over to her.

At that point, Boba would have been a fool to deny how much he enjoyed her softness, or the fondness growing in his chest. She was such a sweet little thing, but still razor-sharp at the edges. The shy smile she offered him made him want to wrap her in his arms and squeeze her against his chest. She turned on her side, tentatively cuddling up against him. He understood her hesitation. He was well aware that he hardly seemed the type for cuddling after sex, and it wasn’t like he had tried for it the first time.

But he… he liked it. When he’d felt safe enough for it, anyways. Letting his body come down from the adrenaline rush of pleasure with a warm, soft body wrapped around his was immensely satisfying. Just two—or _more_ on occasion—people tucked away from the rest of the world for a few moments. When he curled his arm around behind her, Ravla nuzzled into his side, her arm slipping over his chest. He took a long, deep breath, letting the sigh rumble with contentment as he exhaled.

“The blanket is… damp,” Ravla mumbled, eyes sliding away from Boba’s face, cheeks warming again.

Boba chuckled, recalling the way she had practically _poured_ onto his tongue. “That’s _all you_ , princess,” he said, a teasing note creeping into his rough voice, chuckling when Ravla’s head snapped up, eyes wide.

It was a _sizeable_ wet patch, far more than just what Boba’s come leaking out of her might have left. Her head spun briefly as she sat up suddenly, pulling her legs out of the way and reaching out to the dark spot on the blanket. Boba watched curiously as she touched the spot and then sniffed carefully at her fingers. She blinked, glancing at him before she looked away again.

“I’ve… I’ve never done that before,” she finally murmured, staring at the wall.

Boba hooked a hand around her, pulling her back down with him. “What? Come so hard you soaked the sheets?”

The words made Ravla want to squirm all over again, feeling almost embarrassingly slick when her thighs pressed together. “Yes, _that_.” She knew that it was _theoretically_ possible for someone with a vagina to do such things but… It had just never happened before. Even though she _knew_ that she hadn’t lost control of any of her bodily functions, she still felt a strange, muddled wave of embarrassment creeping over her.

Boba’s fingers curled under her chin, tilting her head back up to him. His face was _very_ close, every little line around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes speaking to a _very_ smug sort of satisfaction. He _liked_ that he’d done that to her, that he’d worked her over so thoroughly—made her come _so hard_ —that she had literally squirted her arousal all over his face. She wanted to duck away, but shook off the feeling, instead tucking her cheek against his chest again.

“Like you need anything to stroke your ego,” she muttered, but even she could tell the petulant tone wasn’t heartfelt.

Boba just hummed his amusement, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and keeping her tucked into her side. “Oh, I know _exactly_ how good I am, _mesh’la_ ,” he murmured, letting his own eyes drift shut. Not sleepy exactly, but sated. Calm.

Ravla felt the compliment wash over her, almost alien in its casual honesty. She didn’t know what to do with it, not in this context. It was… it was probably just how Boba was. He’d recognized that she responded well to the little pet names and endearments; he liked her reactions to them. They drifted off into a comfortable silence, simply basking in the afterglow.

“Hey…” Ravla began. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s ‘kamino’?”

Boba thought a moment. It wasn’t like there was anything there anymore, all of it destroyed by the Empire. “Planet where I was born,” he finally said. “Raised there for a time.”

Ravla hummed softly in acknowledgment. “I’m not all that exciting. I was born on Coruscant. Lower levels. Lived there until I was… twelve, maybe?” She had lived there until her parents had been killed, and then had snuck off-world as a stowaway. She didn’t ask for more, and didn’t offer anything of her own. A sexual relationship didn’t entitle her to anything, though if he had asked about her, she probably would have told him.

Boba _despised_ Coruscant. Finding a bounty there was always like trying to find a single Gungan on Kamino. Too many people. And down on the lower levels, things were crowded and dense, with far too many places to hide and evade a hunter. Hunts on that blasted planet always took far longer than others, and Boba had started charging double just to make such contracts worth it for him.

Ravla didn’t have the sort of attitude he would have expected from a Coruscanti alley rat. They were all sharp edges, sticky fingers, and stubborn streaks a kilometer wide. Well… A smirk tugged at the corner of Boba’s mouth, thinking back to how easily she’d palmed the scalpel; maybe she _was_ a bit like the usual natives. But she was far kinder than any Coruscanti that _he’d_ ever met.

Ravla hadn’t been so comfortable in… Stars, she didn’t know how long. If she stayed where she was, head pillowed on Boba’s chest and his arm around her back, she would _definitely_ fall asleep. And she really didn’t want to fall asleep without using the toilet and cleaning herself up. But _that_ would involve extracting herself from Boba’s embrace. An embrace that was downright _tender_. She was wrapped in that same sense of safety, even though she scarcely knew the man well enough to trust him as much as she did. Her younger self would have been furious at her.

“Gotta use the fresher,” she mumbled, not moving.

“Mm. Probably should,” Boba said, _also_ not moving and keeping his arm wrapped around her.

With a heavy sigh, Ravla pushed into a sitting position. Boba stayed exactly where he was, making her scoot down to the foot of the bed to clamber over his legs. As she stood, she could feel Boba’s come leaking out of her, making her thighs slip against one another, the slick starting to trickle down her thigh. Boba watched her pause, going up on her toes as she stretched her arms over her head. His softening cock gave a valiant twitch at the sight of him leaking out of her, smearing against the plush flesh of her thighs.

There were red marks on her hips, sure to darken into fingerprint bruises if she didn’t treat them. The bite on the back of her shoulder was already bruising, and he let his eyes drift closed with a smug smile. Not bothering to get dressed again, she walked out into the hall, shuffling into the fresher. When she came back, Boba was still in her bed, but he had pulled his pants back up and tucked himself away.

As the door closed behind her and Ravla started back towards the bed, Boba sat up, swinging his legs over the side. She let herself take him in for a moment, shirtless and barefooted in her bedroom. Drifting back to him, she wondered what he had dressed like before, what his armor had looked like. She had a vague idea of what Mandalorian armor looked like, but nothing beyond that. When she was close enough, his hands reached for her, catching on her hips and drawing her towards him as he stood.

His hands moved over her slowly, tracing over the places where he had grabbed or bitten her. Ravla let him turn her around, shivering slightly at the puff of his breath at the back of her neck. Again, his fingers found the places where he had dug in, where he had sucked marks into her skin and where bruises would soon be blooming. He was… checking on her, she realized. Making sure that she was alright without saying a word.

Ravla felt… warm. It was such a quiet, gentle sort of intimacy. Silent, but still undeniably genuine. Her chest clenched, and she took a slow, deep breath to push it all back down. Catching one of his hands in hers, Ravla turned to face him again. Lifting his hand, she pressed a kiss to each scarred knuckle, and then to the palm. His hand twitched slightly, fingers brushing her cheek. She just smiled at him, letting his hand drop and stepping back to pick up her clothes. 

Boba watched her redress, going to her dresser for a pair of underwear. There was a simple sort of grace about her. She wasn’t an entertainer, moving herself to garner attention or foster attraction. She was no warrior, with swift, clean motions without any excess movement. She just… _was_. A simple being, at peace with her place in the universe. 

Her grace was… effortless, as much a part of her as her need to care for others. Maybe it was foolish to be so fond of someone so new to him. But he suddenly felt too old for all the paranoia and hovering distrust that had been such an intrinsic part of his life before. Boba allowed himself a half smile, still getting used to the muted tugging sensation the expression caused in his new scars. 

He was still watching her when Ravla turned again, hands pausing as they held the ends of her sash. She blinked, warmth rising in her cheeks as he just continued looking at her. She wanted to squirm under the gaze, to turn away and keep the warm feeling spreading in her chest from finally working its way into her heart. “What?” The word spilled out, breathless and hesitant.

Boba just chuckled. Honestly, his thoughts had turned to how one of her patients might react to the scattering of reddening love bites he’d left on either side of her neck. As well as how she might blush and fluster if they were pointed out. Her dress hid the actual bites, which—for now—just looked a little red. The rest however… Those mottled marks were nearly bright against her skin, the center of each darkened with a scattering of broken capillaries. There was that same possessive curl unfolding in his chest, seeing more of _his_ marks painted so clearly on her skin.

 _His_.

The word felt hot in his mouth, pushing against the back of his teeth, almost as if it wanted to be spoken. It was a loaded word. It was possessive, yes, but there was more than just that. He’d said it before, in the purest definition of the word. The people he’d bedded had belonged to him for the night or two they’d been together. But Ravla… wasn’t that. It was _casual_ , yes, but not like that. Neither of them would be gone the next morning, or even the day after that. Tomorrow, they would still be here with each other.

Calling her _his_ didn’t feel right, even if looking at the evidence of his mouth on her skin still started that possessive thrill rolling through his veins. A person should never just _belong_ to another. He might have worked with Jabba, but he had never been a slaver, never bought a woman if she wasn’t the one making the choice to sell herself. The feelings were quickly becoming far too complicated for his liking, and he did what he’d learned to do with his impulsive and reckless anger. He pushed it down, to the back of his mind where he _might_ examine it at another time.

The click of Ravla’s tongue drew him back to the moment, watching her roll her eyes at him as she finished tying her sash. “I’m sure you’re very proud of yourself,” she said, face making a show of exasperation while the smile was plain in the lilt of her voice.

Boba crossed the room, thumbing over the marks the climbed up the side of her neck. “Mm. A bit.”

Ravla practically had to crane her head back to meet his eyes, her own mouth twisting as she tried to repress a smile. Maker, smug shouldn’t look so attractive on a man. It should make her want nothing to do with him, the smug bastard. But the weight of his hand resting where her neck met her shoulder was a pleasant one, and she decided to let him get away with it. Again.

“Smug bastard,” she said, tone decidedly _fond_ and not at all irritated.

Boba snorted, shaking his head as he turned to grab his shirt off the floor. His back twinged, and he made a face as he was turned away from her. “I’ll work on that as soon as you promise not to nanny after any poor bastard you find unconscious on _Tatooine_.”

“Hmm, as I suspected,” Ravla said, nodding gravely. “A terminal case of ‘bastard’.” She shook her head. “Worst I’ve ever seen.”

Dressed again, Boba came back over, pinching her chin. “Brat,” he admonished, without any real annoyance in his expression. Ravla tugged away with a laugh, the sound so light and full of mirth that something in Boba’s chest _lurched_. He pointedly ignored it. 

As much as Ravla would have liked to spend the rest of the day in bed, she wasn’t keen on throwing off her sleep schedule. She’d worked hard to cultivate it despite her insomnia’s best efforts. She decided that some caff was in order, and once she was back in the lab, she moved over to the little counter where she kept a small stash of portions and a kettle. She didn’t indulge in caff as much as she would have liked, with water as precious and rare as it was.

But she smiled happily as the smoky, warm smell of caff started to rise in the air, plucking up one of her mugs and digging in the small drawer for some sweetener. “You want any?” she asked, straightening up and looking over at Boba, your hand hovering over another cup. “I make it strong.”

Boba inclined his head in silent acceptance, and Ravla pulled the mug down, setting it next to her own. The silence was a comfortable one, and she leaned against the counter, one hand braced and fingers tapping lazily on the surface. As she was waiting, her com system pinged. Pushing off from the counter, she wandered over, dropping into the chair a bit more heavily than was strictly necessary. Scrubbing a hand over her face, she leaned in, eyes squinting slightly at the small screen.

Then they widened, face going slack with surprise. When the silence persisted, Boba spoke. “Good or bad?”

The quiet rasp of his voice snapped her back, and she shook her head, blinking a few times as she reread the message. “It… it’s for me,” she finally said. “The… the droid. It was… it was for me this whole time.” Her head turned towards the crate, just staring.

It wasn’t that she thought that she was worthless, that she didn’t think that she deserved good things. She had pulled herself out of that mire of self-loathing _years_ ago, fought tooth and nail to shake its lingering hold. But sometimes, someone would do something for her, whether it was some grand gesture or just a little show of trust and faith. Sometimes… she would find herself right back where she started, wondering what she had done to deserve something so wonderful.

Now, she felt blindsided. Timur could have sold such a treasure for thousands and thousands of credits. Especially in the Outer Rim. Such luxuries were few and far between. Her brain felt scrambled, coming up with a flurry of excuses and examples of people that would probably have needed it more. She did a decent business here, but it was far from busy. How many more people could that droid have helped if it was sold to someone in a proper city? How many lives could it have saved?

An old, familiar ache opened up in her chest, eyes suddenly stinging. She had thought she was past this, past questioning her self-worth. So she looked at Boba. His life _mattered_. She had saved him, and that was _worth_ something, dammit! And just like that, the feeling began to ebb. Just looking at him, thinking about him, soothed the edges of her feelings, unhooking the claws of her past that had tried to dig into her again.

Boba felt a sense of vicarious satisfaction settle in him, but he didn’t say anything. He saw the conflict playing across her face, making her look young and soft all over again. He knew that feeling, that gnawing doubt. It had been decades for him; his confidence earned through hard work, blood and sweat, sheer grit and determination.

Another ping from the com system broke the moment, and Ravla jerked back around. Leaning in again, she frowned, and then groaned. “Oh, sweet Maker. I just can’t catch a fucking break.” At Boba’s questioning grunt, she stood, pushing away from the table. “I have a… an _acquaintance_ coming in.” She pinched the bridge of her nose with a heavy sigh.

Boba could tell the prospect didn’t exactly excite her. “More trouble?”

“Probably not,” Ravla said, drifting back to the counter where he was standing. “She’s a professional, and I’ve never known her to have loose ends.” She poured them both some caff, upending—in Boba’s opinion—a completely unnecessary amount of sweetener into her cup.

“You seemed to think something similar of your _last_ visitors,” Boba pointed out. He sipped his unaltered caff, the taste comfortingly familiar.

“She’s miles more put-together,” Ravla said, turning leaning back against the counter, hands curled carefully around her mug. Another long, heavy sigh. “She’s an assassin,” she finally said, catching the tightening shift in Boba’s shoulders. “High profile from the way she carries herself. I’ve dealt with her before. She’s… she’s actually pretty nice? As assassins go, I guess?” She shrugged. “I’d really rather not piss her off, if you don’t mind.”

Boba’s wariness stumbled over the last part of her sentence. She was… asking him? Or at least checking in with him about what was about to happen. Maybe? He shook off the moment of confusion. “It’s your business who you bring in. This woman have a name?”

“Shand,” Ravla supplied. “Fennec Shand.”

Boba groaned inwardly. While they had never met, the assassin was around his age, and they had both made a name for themselves as killers for hire around the same time. There was no way she wouldn’t know the name Boba Fett. Not that it was certain she would recognize him. Even if she _had_ seen his face before, it could have been decades, and with all the new scarring, he looked quite different.

As observant as ever, Ravla noticed the subtle shift in Boba’s jaw. “Oh… You know her?”

It was his turn to sigh, and he took a long pull of caff before he answered. “I know _of_ her. And she would definitely know my name.”

Ravla blinked, then shrugged. “Jax is a pretty common name, though, isn’t it?” she said innocently. She smiled when he looked back at her, one eye closing in a quick wink. “Plus, you can just stay in your room, if you like. Shand never stays long, anyway.”

Boba huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “For a healer, you’re _awfully_ sneaky, princess.”

Her half smile pulled at the dimple in her cheek. “I grew up playing on the lower levels of Coruscant,” she said. “Of _course_ I’m sneaky.”

Boba laughed, the low, rich sound making Ravla’s stomach swoop. “As vicious as an alley tooka, to be sure.” He said it with such mirth, the lines around his eyes crinkling as he shook his head. And that smile was for her. That _laugh_ was for _her_. She wanted to close her eyes, to take a steadying breath so that she didn’t start giggling like a smitten little girl.

Oh.

Oh _no_.

Her stomach fluttered, chest going tight with fuzzy warmth. 

No, no, no.

This was _not_ how this was supposed to go.

It had been meant to be _simple_. Two people indulging in each other while they shared a home, while one recovered and the other made sure that they were taken care of. They had chemistry, and following where that went hadn’t been meant to lead to…

Kriff.

Dank farrik.

 _Fuck_!

She couldn’t stop smiling, masking the expression in another drink. She was an idiot. A karking _moron_. But, _oh_ , was she _happy_. It would hurt, it would hurt so fucking bad when it was over, because there was never going to be more than this. Boba would leave, and she would be where she had always been, where she was _happy_ being. 

But now she was more than just attached, more than just attracted. It shouldn’t have worked out this way. He’d been awake with her for only a handful of days. Part of her was angry with herself, angry at how her foolish heart had just opened itself up to the first touch of warmth and kindness. She wanted to hate it, to just rip the thing out of her chest and squash the warm, fuzzy feelings that had somehow seeped down into her very bones without her realizing.

Ravla hadn’t felt like this since the Academy. Hadn’t been this lovesick and stupid over another person in over a _decade_. And she had _known_ that person, had spent years with her, growing up and learning beside her. And what had that gotten her? It had gotten her nothing but loss and pain and so, _so_ many stupid decisions afterwards.

But during? Oh, _during_ Ravla had been so happy. _She_ had made everything bearable, made it possible to ignore the rule of the Empire, to forget that there were people out there, fighting and dying to bring an end to its rule. The last time Ravla had been in love, it had been the happiest time of her life, and she wouldn’t trade it for anything. Even to spare herself the insurmountable pain that had come when everything had gone wrong.

 _This_ , at least, she told herself, wouldn’t end the same. Wouldn’t end in blood and pain and screaming. With her heart torn out and ground to pieces under the heel of the Empire. _This_ , when the end did come, would just end with a good-bye. Maybe it would break a little piece of her, another bit of kindness turned bitter and sharp.

But it wasn’t enough to stop her from looking up and smiling at Boba, swallowing caff past the lump rising in her throat as she winked at him. Maker, if this had an expiration date, she would enjoy every second of it to the end. She would savor every little jibe, every snide remark and teasing phrase. She would remember every breath they shared, ever touch and mark burned into her memory. _Those_ things would still be hers when Boba left.

So she smiled, and didn’t let herself think about how badly she wanted to cry.


	12. The Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fennec Shand comes to visit. Ravla realizes she has the opportunity to learn a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wish I had an opportunity to write Fennec in a more action-y type setting, because I'm completely guessing at how she'd act in a more domestic type of setting. Oh well. And, just to let you know, this chapter and the next are just gonna be huge foreshadowing... that probably won't pay off for some time ^^; Anyways, enjoy!

Later that night, Ravla had finally worked up the courage to knock on Boba’s door. Light still shown under the small space at the floor, his shadow moving within. The shadow stilled at the sound of her knock, and then the door was sliding open, revealing Boba on the other side. Ravla smiled, holding up the now familiar jar of salve. “Almost forgot,” she murmured. And she _had_ , everything else—including her own rather important realization—eating up her mind and pushing everything to the back burner.

Boba just stepped to the side, gesturing her inside with a wave of his hand. She was already dressed for bed, wearing and over-sized sleeping shirt and another pair of leggings. He allowed himself the luxury of brushing his hand against her lower back, almost guiding her into the room as the door slid shut behind her. Ravla’s eyes closed briefly at the contact, taking a breath to settle herself again. Turning, she took a few more steps backwards into the room. 

“You want to sit at the desk, or on the bed?”

“Bed’s fine.” 

Boba walked past her, tugging his shirt up over his head. He sat down on the edge of the bed, facing outward into the room. Ravla couldn’t help but smile, toeing out of her shoes and moving to climb on the bed behind him. It dipped with her weight as she shifted around to crouch on her knees behind him. She found herself wanting to lean in, to lay a trail of kisses down each slope of his broad shoulders.

Instead, she unscrewed the jar, and scooped a generous amount into her hands. Boba’s shoulders shifted with a sigh as she swept the salve along the width of them. The idea that her touch could bring him comfort was a welcome one, softening the edges of her anxiety. It was so quiet, just the hum of the air through the vent, and the soft whisper of their mingled breathing.

Not for the first time, Ravla felt isolated from the rest of the world. It wasn’t in a chilling way, in a sad way. It was as if the conflicts of the galaxy had just been stripped away, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in their little bubble of fragile intimacy. Ravla let her eyes close, hands working in slow, careful circles, mindful of the ripples of scar tissue across Boba’s skin.

Her hands were warm, melting the salve into his skin. It felt good to be able to allow it, this gentle touch. Boba let his eyes close, sighing quietly through his nose. As before, her hands dug into his muscles, paying special attention to his shoulders and the base of his neck. There was genuine care in her touch, her weight shifting behind him as she put her weight into each stroke of her hands, each press into the knotted muscles of his back. He let himself relax, eyes falling shut and chin dropping towards his chest.

Ravla wasn’t quite sure where her self-control and restraint had gone. She had resolved herself to keep her innate need for casual physical affection _to herself_. It would just make her all the more infatuated if he allowed it, and if he _didn’t_ want it, she would feel like an idiot. And yet she still leaned in, bumping her brow against the back of Boba’s head, body arched carefully back so as not to stain her clothing with the salve.

As if coming to her senses, she didn’t linger, already leaning away when Boba’s hand reached up, cupping the back of her neck and holding her in place. He turned where he sat, tilting his head back to catch her lips in a slow kiss. Ravla’s hands went still, body instinctively leaning in, sighing softly at the gentle brush of his tongue against her lips.

Boba smirked into the kiss, feeling the way her grip went slack, hands relaxing where they pressed into his back. Such a soft, malleable little thing, he thought, parting with a gentle scrape of teeth over her bottom lip. She was blushing again when she pulled back, still angled slightly over his shoulder and looking down at him. Then she came out from behind him, stepping onto the floor before she turned to face him again. 

Her first instinct was to climb into his lap, to slip her arms over his shoulders and let him kiss the life out of her. But she lingered in front of him; too long for him, apparently, because he grabbed her by the hips and practically yanked her forward. His grip lowered to the backs of her thighs, guiding her to straddle his lap before sinking a hand into her hair and pulling her lips back to his.

It was a softer, more languorous kiss, different from the ones they’d shared before. Instinctively, Ravla’s hips rolled down against him, fingers digging into his broad shoulders for leverage. Her body had grown tender; she felt soft and almost bruised, and considering she’d had a lot more sex in the last few days than she’d had in _years_ … _maybe_ she should slow down. But she could feel him hardening beneath her as his tongue explored hers, the hands that had fallen to her hips grinding her slowly against him.

When the kiss broke, Ravla rested her brow against his. “’M sore,” she admitted quietly, fingers brushing down his chest, unconsciously following a wide stripe of burn scar.

Boba chuckled, hands stroking lightly over her lower back. “ _Good_ ,” he said pointedly, hips going still. “Means I did my job right.” Her flustered laugh was lovely, and he traced the line of her jaw with the tip of his nose. “Do you want to stay here?”

The question tumbled out without him even really thinking, his mouth asking for what he wanted without consulting his brain on the subject. She shifted minutely against him, little more than a flex of her thighs. But her hands had gone still, as if his words had surprised her, too. Before Boba could feel the tightening of regret, he felt her head nod softly against the side of his.

“I’d… I’d like that.” Her voice was soft, almost carefully neutral. 

Boba helped her slide back down. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, picking up his folded night clothes and heading for the door, probably to hit the fresh and change for bed. 

As he vanished into the hall, Ravla turned to the bed, already feeling heat in her cheeks and ears. She bit her bottom lip lightly against the smile that tugged at her cheeks, pulling back the blankets and scooting over to the wall. He didn’t seem to be using the second pillow that she had provided, so Ravla laid back, still trying to swallow her giddy smile. It was probably a dumb idea to indulge like this. Just sleeping in the same bed with someone she had no business falling for…

Again, she reminded herself that she might as well enjoy what she had _while_ she had it, instead of fretting about the unknowable future. She rolled onto her side, facing the wall as she nuzzled into the pillow. It smelled different than hers. She and Boba used the same soap and cleaning products, but he just… smelled different. Some lingering, almost unnoticeable musk that was distinctly him. It was… nice.

When he returned, Ravla looked over her shoulder. Boba had changed into a pair of loose linen trousers, the matching shirt with a looser, more open neckline. It showed off the breadth of his shoulders, and Ravla made a small face at herself for staring when he turned off the one lamp and plunged the room into darkness. Her heart did its very best to jump into her throat when the bed dipped with his weight, his warm body sliding in next to hers.

Whatever she had been expecting, her pulse still jumped when his arm slid around her waist, dragging her across the bed to tuck her up against his chest. She shifted a little, adjusting her pillow for comfort while saying close. It felt… Oh, it was _wonderful_. The weight of his arm, the warmth of his chest at her back… It was all so blissfully, painfully tender. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, even as she sighed contentedly, her hand curling over his where it rested on the softness of her stomach.

Boba allowed himself to breath her in, enjoying the clean, simple scent of her hair. She was nothing but plush softness, his arm sinking against her, her body giving and soft where his was hard and unyielding. His thoughts had lingered on the contrast before, on how different the two of them were. It seemed to be one of his favorite things to think about as of late. He wanted to squeeze, to feel his hands sink into her, and to feel her lean into the hold.

But she was already drifting, breath evening out in the slow descent of sleep. Poor thing really was worn out. Smiling to himself, Boba closed his own eyes, and, eventually, he slept.

000

Ravla awoke nuzzled into Boba’s back. The world was silent and warm, and her eyes fluttered before she closed them again, humming a quiet grumble as she tried to fall back into the welcoming dark of sleep.

“Don’t you have a visitor today, little one?”

Boba’s voice was even rougher with the rasp of sleep. She liked it. With her brain still catching up, she didn’t have it in her to restrain the childish grumble, burying her face in his back as if to hide away from her responsibilities. As he sat up, she made a plaintive noise of complaint, rolling onto her stomach and hiding her face in the pillow. Boba looked down at her for a moment. Her hair was knotted and pushed up on one side, the back a fluffy tangle from where she’d been laying. Her sleep shirt was rucked up around her ribs, baring a tantalizing strip of skin around her waist.

He snorted, reaching out and pulling back the covers. Another indignant noise, but she made no move to comply. The cuff of her leggings had ridden up to her knee on one leg. With a shake of his head, Boba slapped her playfully on the backside, startling a yelp out of her, head shooting up from the pillow to point a sleepy glare in his direction.

“Up,” he demanded, quirking a single hairless brow.

 _‘Terminal case of bastard, indeed,’_ Ravla thought to herself as she twisted and sat up. Boba was already out of bed, and she shoved up on her arms, ready to do the same. Her thighs _burned_ , a broken little noise of discomfort escaping her. Stars, she was _sore_. Her abdomen, too. She thought back to how tightly her body had clenched for him, wrung out over and over again before she’d finally gotten what she’d wanted.

But she still felt well-rested, her shoulders loose and comfortable. For all that her muscles had received a _very_ thorough work-out the day before, she felt _good_. Well, there were worse ways to feel when meeting with a sort-of-friend-but-mostly-acquaintance-assassin. She shuffled into the hall and went to her room, picking one of her usual wrap-around dresses and brushing out her hair. She tied it back without out a thought, stepping into the fresher to wash her face and brush her teeth.

The sense of relaxation lingered, propelling her calmly through her morning tasks. She fed and caffeinated herself, leaving enough for Boba if he decided to venture out of his room today. She wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. Having people knowing that he was alive probably wouldn’t be very good for him, especially as he was still in recovery. It was better to be in a bacta tank for a coma, as they prevented the majority of the loss of muscle tone that came with long periods of inactivity. She’d found she had to pump an enormous number of calories into him to maintain the body he’d crafted himself. But it wasn’t perfect.

As useful as it was, bacta wasn’t a miracle worker. It had limits, and she had no intentions of Boba having to deal with the outside world more than he’d already had to. That, and it wasn’t like he was well equipped to do battle with half the galaxy. He didn’t have his armor, or the ship he’d told her about. She was perfectly happy for him to just stay in his room, referred to only vaguely as one of her patients that was resting their way through recovery.

She was just finishing setting up an exam table in her lab when her holopad chimed from her desk. She walked over, reading the small proximity alarm she had on the door. It wasn’t fancy. It just told her that someone was there. She didn’t run it all the time—took too much power—but she hadn’t wanted to keep Fennec waiting. Not that the other woman had given Ravla any reason to be afraid, but it was just common sense to be nice and polite to professional assassins, wasn’t it?

With one last glance over her shoulder, Ravla hurried up the hall to the waiting room door, punching in the code for the door and stepping back as it slid open. While Fennec’s orange helmet wasn’t exactly a _familiar_ sight, Ravla knew it well enough, smiling as the woman stepped inside. She wasn’t much taller than Ravla, built like a cat; all lean muscle and quick reflexes. And when the helmet came off, she was pretty, too, with dark, almond-shaped eyes, and skin so fine she knew other women would have killed for her secret.

“What happened to your speeder?” Fennec said by way of greeting. Her rifle was in its case slung across her back, her helmet balanced on her hip under one arm.

Ravla made a face as they walked together into the hall. “Had a run in with raiders and had to leave it out in the open overnight. Jawas took that to mean, ‘free speeder’!”

Fennec snorted. “Yeah, they’ll do that.” She took a moment to observe Ravla. The younger woman had always been interesting, kind to a fault. Enough to get herself in trouble. And yet she was just as stubborn as she was a bleeding heart. That, and no one knew who she was. It made her lab a good place to crash if one needed to wait for something to blow over. 

Then her eyes caught on Ravla’s neck, and a grin pulled at the corner of Fennec’s mouth. Well, it looked like the girl wasn’t _lonely_ at least. It almost looked like the poor thing had been a chew-toy for someone’s pet massif, neck scattered with dark hickeys and bruised bite marks. There were even one or two peeking out from under the neck of her dress, indicating that whoever had left the marks, they’d been very… _thorough_.

“So, what’s the damage?” Ravla said, letting them into the lab. 

Fennec set her rifle and helmet down on the exam table. “First, I wanna know if whoever left _those_ ,” she gestured at the healer’s neck, “is still around.” The way Ravla instantly flushed made Fennec smirk. Knowing that she wasn’t some bashful, naïve little wallflower just made it even better.

 _‘Dank farrik…’_ Ravla had truthfully forgotten all about the marks, and there were surely plenty more _under_ her dress. Heat burned in her cheeks, rising to the tips of her ears at the pointed quirk of Fennec’s mouth and the blatantly _knowing_ expression on her face. “I have a patient in the spare room,” she finally said, half-way sidestepping the question. “He only came out of the bacta tank a few days ago. He was in rough shape, but he won’t be a problem.”

It wasn’t a lie, not really. Ravla knew herself well enough that she was aware that lying wasn’t exactly her strong suit. But it was also quite true. Boba _had_ been in critical condition when she found him. _And_ … he wouldn’t pose any problem for the assassin. Though, it was more because he didn’t want trouble of his own, rather than being too week to cause any problems. That seemed to be enough for Fennec, because she nodded, and began to undo her coat and remove her gloves. Ravla was certain she had left the topic of her appearance behind until the assassin spoke again. 

“So… he’s _not_ the one that gave you those?” she prodded, peeling off her compression shirt and presenting her bandaged forearm.

As she began to peel off the bandage, Ravla shot a look up at the other woman. Fennec just chuckled, a quiet, reserved sound. Ravla was starting to wonder if there was something about her appearance that made trained killers want to tease her. Was it how young she could look? Maybe the roundness of her cheeks? That line of thought was quickly forgotten as she unveiled the festering slice across Fennec’s pale flesh.

“Kriff, what did you get yourself into?” Ravla muttered, not really expecting an answer. It was a blade wound, obviously laced with something to cause infection. She used a latex band to tie off Fennec’s arm above the elbow, priming a syringe before injecting the bacta solution into the rising vein at the crook of her elbow.

“Just the usual,” Fennec said, shrugging with the opposite shoulder.

That just meant that someone had actually _seen_ her before she’d carried out whatever murder she’d been paid for. She must have been going up against someone important, then. Important people on Tatooine usually weren’t good people. And it wasn’t like Ravla was some delicate maiden, either. The Rebel Alliance hadn’t been full of golden angels, people far beyond reproach. They had just been people, some kinder than others.

She didn’t dislike Fennec, not really. Ravla respected the woman, even if she had only seen her in action once. Fennec had treated her with respect, and, more than once, had sent some clients Ravla’s way that paid handsomely for her discretion. As she cleaned and re-bandaged the wound, Ravla found herself thinking about Boba. He’d only said ‘something like that’ when she asked if he was a bounty hunter. She supposed he could have been an assassin, too. 

A thought struck her, and Ravla bit her lip at the tiny prick of guilt. She could ask Fennec about the bounty hunter, Boba Fett. If he was as famous as he had alluded to, Fennec would know him. Or at least _of_ him. It was the perfect opportunity to learn more about the man she had allowed to get far too close to her, that she was already far more attached to than she had any right to be.

The guilt pricked her again. She could just ask Boba. That would be the honest thing to do. If he didn’t want to tell her, that was his business. But… wasn’t it also _her_ business to know who she’d let into her home? Who she’d…

“Hey, Fennec?” she asked, looking up from where she was washing her hands. “I’d like to ask you a question. Not about you, but… a name you probably know?”

Fennec arched a brow. Ravla had never showed much interest in the world that Fennec worked and lived in, more concerned with whatever injury or matter was at hand. That she was wanting to ask touched on Fennec’s more inquisitive side. She inclined her head, gesturing for Ravla to speak.

Ravla took a steadying breath. “I’ll probably sound like an idiot for not knowing who this is, but… have you ever heard of Boba Fett?”

Fennec blinked. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to come out of the healer’s mouth, but it hadn’t been _that_. “Fett? Yeah, I know the name. Why?”

“A patient mentioned them, and seemed surprised I didn’t know who it was,” Ravla replied. “A bounty hunter, I think?” Again, not a lie. It was the complete truth… from a certain point of view.

There was more to it than just that, Fennec could tell. She decided to answer anyway. “He was a bounty hunter. One of the best. Worked with the Hutts, and did a few big jobs for the Empire before it fell.” She shrugged.

“Was?” Ravla prompted. It wasn’t like she didn’t _know_ how all that had ended for Boba, but she wanted to hear more. The fact that he’d worked for the Hutts really shouldn’t come as a surprise, and the fierce, desperate hope that he hadn’t been a slaver became a painful twist in her stomach.

“Way people tell it, he got thrown into a sarlacc pit when Jabba was trying to execute some Jedi and his friends. Think they ended up being war heroes. I think that’s how Jabba ended up dying.”

Ravla’s eyes widened. The only Jedi she knew of was Luke Skywalker, who had got himself caught in a blizzard on Hoth. She still remembered him, floating unconscious in the bacta tank. She remembered how polite the young man had been, the way his eyes had looked far older than his boyish face and medical records indicated. Was the galaxy really that small? 

She _had_ made it a point to distance herself from the war after she left, but she wondered how she hadn’t heard about Jabba’s death. “Wait, Jabba is _dead_?” she said, straightening and staring over at Fennec with real surprise.

“You need to get out more,” Fennec said, taking another drink from the _large_ glass that Ravla had pressed into her hands. “Yeah. By his new slave girl, apparently,” she smiled at that, the expression edged with a vicious sort of satisfaction. “Strangled the big slug with her own chains.”

“Kriff,” was all Ravla could say to that. “Well… good for her.” It was a fitting end for the scummy bastard, and she felt her own hard curl of satisfaction that he was dead. Another thought occurred to her, and she groaned. “Maker, now everyone’s gonna be fighting to take his place.”

Fennec chuckled. “Plenty of work for me, so I’m not complaining,” she said. “But I think Bib Fortuna's taken over.”

“I have no idea who that is,” Ravla said with a shrug. “Is he any better?”

Fennec’s scoff held real distaste. “No. Just less fat.”

Ravla pulled a portion from the cabinet, starting the polystarch rehydrating in a tray. “Well… Hopefully he can’t make Tatooine any _worse_.”

“I told you I could get you a job with some of my people,” Fennec reminded her. “Skills like yours are in high demand out here.”

Ravla’s smile was genuine. She got the feeling that a recommendation from Fennec Shand went a long way. “I appreciate it, Fennec, I do. But I like picking my own patients when I can. I don’t think I’d have much of a choice about that elsewhere.”

“What, like the people that come to you are all paragons of virtue?”

No, they _weren’t_. The moisture farmers aside, nearly all of the patients that came to her were some kind of criminal or another. Timur and his crew used to run Spice. Boba had worked for the Hutts _and_ the Empire, and she was _sleeping_ with him. 

“Could you promise I’d never have to give medical aid to a slaver?” she finally said. Fennec sighed softly, and Ravla nodded. “That’s why. If I’m going to work for a criminal empire, they can’t work with slavers in _any_ capacity.” Her eyes fell to the scars on her wrists, and she flexed her hands.

“Hey, I’m not going to tell you how to live, Cobor,” Fennec said, voice sounding just a little softer. She had seen Ravla’s scars, and from the venomous way that she’d heard the healer talk about slavers, she had a pretty good idea how she’d gotten those scars. 

Ravla shook her head, refusing to fall into the trap of memory. “So. You’d usually be packing up to leave by now,” she pointed out.

Fennec smiled. “Ah. You caught me.” She reached into one of her coat pockets, pulling out a bag and tossing it to Ravla. She caught it, hearing the metallic jingle of credits. The bag was _heavy_. “I’d like to lay low here for a couple days. I lost my ride, but I’ve called another. That should be enough to compensate you for the trouble.”

Opening the bag, Ravla had to stop her jaw from dropping. That… was _a lot_ of money… Shaking her head, she looked up again. “I don’t have a spare room for you this time, I’m afraid. My other patient—”

“That isn’t an issue for me,” Fennec said calmly. “Is it alright? I’d like to give my contact the coordinates.”

With this amount of credits, Ravla could buy an _awful_ lot of water. Hell, it could by her a lot of _anything_. But if Boba didn’t want Fennec knowing that he was here… She bit her lip. Saying she had to go and _ask_ her patient about it would just smack of something suspicious. The decision had to be made now, by her alone.

Then another thought struck her. She might not want for anything—not really—but Boba might need money in his search for his armor and his ship. She closed the bag and nodded. “That’s fine. You can use the com system over there.” She pointed. “I’ll be back in a minute. Going to put this away.” Fennec nodded, going to do as she’d said.

Ravla left the lab, striding down the hall and knocking quietly on Boba’s door. When he opened it, she didn’t wait, pushing past him and closing it quickly behind her. “So… small change of plans.” Anxiety tightened her chest, and she pointedly looked at Boba’s nose and mouth rather than fully meeting his eyes. “Shand wants to stay. For two days. I trust her when she says she won’t cause problems, but…” Unable to stop herself, she looked at him, brows furrowed and bottom lip bitten between her teeth. Maker, she would _not_ ask if it was alright with him! It was _her_ home, dammit. All the same, she didn’t want him to be made to feel uncomfortable. She _liked_ having him around, and wanted his limited stay with her to be as pleasant as possible. 

Boba saw the way her hands tightened on the bag she was holding, all her tells of anxiety laid bare. She was worried about how this would affect _him_ , even if he suspected that she had just been paid quiet handsomely to offer her dwelling as a temporary safehouse. “You trust her to keep her word?” he finally said. He didn’t trust Fennec Shand in the slightest, but from what he remembered, she wasn’t the type to leave any kind of messy trail, or give up a very useful contact.

Blinking, Ravla’s expression shifted. Slowly, she nodded. “I’ve been useful to her,” she said. “Saved her skin more than once in the past. I don’t think she’d give up an unknown hiding place like this easily. Doesn’t seem the type.”

It was sound logic, and an astute observation. Boba nodded. “Alright. But remember, little one.” He stepped quickly into her space, tipping her chin up to look at him. “If she poses a threat, she dies.”

Ravla had never felt such a surge of conflicting emotions. The cold certainty of his voice elicited a spark of fear, icy and sharp enough that she shivered. The thought that he was still willing to kill to protect her home made her expression go soft, easing the sudden spike of anxiety. She tried to push on the warm feeling, nodding her thanks and understand to him. He was ready to kill in order to protect the only safe place he had at the moment. 

He might have a fondness for her, but Ravla wouldn’t fool herself into thinking that she was the only thing on his mind when he worried if the new arrival would bring more trouble.


	13. Familiarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a much smaller galaxy than people think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I wanted to let you know there might not be any chapters for a week or so after this! I'm going to visit my Mom in Arizona, and while I'm taking my laptop, there's no guarantee I'll be able to work on anything. I leave you with this lovely little morsel! Also, I was a little drunk when I posted, so please excuse any editing issues!

Boba watched Ravla stop by the door, hand hovering over the keypad. Slowly, her fingers curled inwards, hand dropping to her side as she half turned back towards him. “I… may have done something stupid,” she whispered. Her posture had shifted, shoulders rolling inwards, head slightly bowed. Her eyes stared pointedly ahead, intently focused on the wall across from her.

When Boba took a step forward, she flinched. It wasn’t much, barely there. But he still saw her shoulders tighten, body leaning away from him ever so slightly. She was _scared_ , he realized. Scared of _him_. The knowledge dropped in his stomach like a stone, snagging around a sharp stab of discomfort. She had only been scared of him once, the day he emerged from the tank. Since then…

Maker help him, he _didn’t want_ her to be scared of him. Even if part of him was rearing up warily, wondering just what she could have done to think that he would be so angry with her. So angry that she flinched instinctively away in fear. The feelings warred with one another, tangled and messy and cutting painfully at his insides. It dug up everything; all the loneliness and vulnerability, all the hunger and desire.

He hated it. Hated how exposed it made him feel. It was easier when she just smiled at him, when she reached out to touch him for no reason other than the fact that she _wanted_ to. That she _liked_ to. Now… now she flinched away and he wanted to reach out and _grab_ her. It shouldn’t have cut him like it did. Her fear shouldn’t have dug into soft places he’d thought long ago scarred over and gone.

Boba took a slow, deep breath through his nose, calling on years of practice at pushing his anger and more volatile emotions aside. “Tell me, little one,” he said, forcing his voice to soften, to gentle, the dry rasp barely above a whisper. He wasn’t using to gentling himself, to using words and phrases he knew would calm those he spoke with.

Ravla had made it a point in life never to judge someone by their past, but rather by the actions they took in the present. People who had done terrible things were still capable of good. Ravla genuinely believed that. But what had she done? She’d gone off and asked someone else about Boba, when she could have just as easily asked _him_. She felt like bottom of the barrel scum, just a complete asshole. Maker, the first good thing to happen to her in years and she had to kark it up. But his tone had gone so soft, _gentle_ even.

“Ravla…” Boba tried again. He stayed where he was, just saying her name, gentle and slow, like trying to tame a skittish fathier.

Some bubble of tension in Ravla’s chest popped, and she let out a shuddering breath. His face hadn’t changed as she’d feared, hadn’t become the hardened granite she’d seen when he was staring down the barrel of the cycler rifle at the weequay holding her hostage. He was looking at her like he was… Ravla didn’t know what this new expression was. It was hard, but the corners of his eyes were soft, almost as if something pained him. It was that that let her find her voice again, pushing past the clench of fear tightening her throat.

“I… I asked Fennec about you,” she rushed out, eyes squeezed shut. “I didn’t say that you were here, or that I’d ever treated you. I just said that a patient had told me the name and that I had never heard it before and wondered if she knew anything about it.” The words tumbled out of her, arms wrapping around herself and squeezing, balling into fists around the fabric of her dress. “I _know_ I should have asked you first, but I wasn’t thinking, and I was just so curious and—”

“Easy there, little one.” 

Boba’s voice—still so _painfully_ gentle—cut into her rambling, his hands reaching out as he stepped forward again. Even when she tensed, even when she let out a frightened little sound. He gently cupped her shoulders, turning her towards him and pulling her close. Her head was still stubbornly downturned, but it took only the barest exertion of pressure under her chin to lift her face to his. Something tightened painfully in him when he found her eyes shining with tears.

Boba clicked his tongue against his teeth, squeezing her shoulder as his thumb stroked her chin. “Little one… I assumed you’d already done that.” Her brows furrowed even as her eyes widened, the picture of confusion. “You’re too curious, and I’m not stupid enough to think you wouldn’t look me up somehow.”

He was genuinely surprised that she hadn’t, honestly. Who _wouldn’t_ try to find out more about the stranger they brought into their home? Ravla was surely too pragmatic not to have done at least a _little_ research. But with the sudden shudder of relief that went through her, apparently she hadn’t, respecting his privacy so much that she had gotten herself all twisted up to the point of tears. A few escaped down her cheeks as she let out a shuddering breath, and he wiped them quickly away with his thumb.

“You’re… you’re not angry?” She sounded so _scared_ still, and Boba grit his teeth against the way her tone wavered, at the way it stuck in the back of his throat like a cough.

Boba… wasn’t sure how to do this, how to reach out gently to the frightened. So, he went with what he knew of her. “Ravla.” She swallowed at the sound of her name, eyes fluttering briefly closed. “I’m not angry.” He stepped slowly in, hands cupping her shoulders, thumbs smoothing in gentle circles. They hung there together for a moment, both of them struggling to take a breath for different reasons. “Now go on.” He gave her shoulder one last squeeze. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Boba, I…” Ravla genuinely didn’t know what to say. She had thought he’d be so angry…

He huffed a small breath, nudging her towards the door. “Go on, little one.”

000

Ravla returned without the bag, arms laden with blankets and a pillow. Peering around her armful, she shuffled over to where the cot was located at the back of the lab, the screen still pulled out around it. “I have another screen somewhere,” she said, her back to Fennec as she made the bed. “I’ll get it set up so you have some privacy.”

“Oh? Is your mystery man going to show himself?”

Ravla straightened, turning and leveling a stern look at the other woman. Yes, Fennec may have scared her, but this was _her_ house and if people wanted to stay in it, they had to play by _her_ rules. “I expect you to be _nice_ ,” she said pointedly.

“I’ll play nice if he does,” Fennec said with a shrug.

Ravla narrowed her eyes briefly, then sighed. That was probably as good as it was going to get. A knot of tension had bunched itself up between her shoulders, and she had to keep consciously unclenching her jaw. And honestly, she really wanted a fucking drink. Or to take a very long nap.

Fennec could _see_ the tension positively rolling off the younger woman. The way she was flitting around the lab, from one meaningless task to the next, displayed just how much nervous energy she had built up. She was trying to hide it, she _was_ , and would probably have fooled just about anyone else. But you didn’t get to be as good as Fennec was without being able to read beneath the surface. The thought of her and this mystery patient meeting was causing an _extreme_ amount of stress.

“You need to _relax_ , kitten,” Fennec finally said.

With her back to her, Ravla _winced_. Oh, sweet Maker, how had she forgotten? Fennec had used that pet name once before, when the two of them had first met and Ravla had been _much_ more vocal about her stress. Getting caught in a shoot-out between two different gangs would do that to a person. Fennec had just patted her on the shoulder, telling her not to worry and dropping that silly little nickname like it didn’t turn Ravla’s insides to jelly.

Now, it just made Ravla think about Boba, and how amused Fennec had seemed at the sight of all the marks that he had left behind. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, chest tightening around her fluttering heart. It didn’t help that she had found Fennec immensely attractive, albeit in a _‘I could kill you as soon as look at you’_ sort of way. 

_‘Why do I have to like the_ scary _ones?’_ she thought ruefully to herself. She wasn’t scared of either of them, really. Especially not Boba, not when she knew that he would just as soon gentle his touch and ask her to sleep beside him as he would rail her into the mattress. A smile found her lips at that, tension melting out of her as she straightened from the bed, smoothing out the blanket with one last brush of her hand.

“It’s… been an eventful few days,” Ravla finally said.

“You did mention raiders.”

“Yes, and then I nearly got murdered by a weequay trying to stage a mutiny with a smuggling crew I work with.” Her hand lifted and brushed over her throat, still remembering the sickening crush of the arm across her windpipe. “But he ended up being the one with his throat cut.”

Fennec blinked, sitting up a little straighter. The way the girl was talking… it almost sounded like _she_ had done the deed. Most people had it in them to kill when the chips were down. Even the softest pacifist could strike a killing blow if the right threats were made. “You should hire some security,” she finally said. 

Ravla’s huffed laugh was genuine, a smile crinkling up her eyes as she shook her head. “No kidding.” Walking over to the door, she turned. “Hey, you want some real food? I have some actual fresh if you want anything besides portions.”

Fennec had eaten Ravla’s cooking once before. It had been pretty good, considering that that the girl actually knew her way around a spice-rack. And when Fennec usually subsisted on ration bars and portions on jobs in the Outer Rim, she wasn’t about to say no to real food. As she stood, Ravla stepped into the hall, feeling the other woman follow behind. She swallowed against another rising bout of anxiety. Boba—Jax, for now—would be in the kitchen.

_‘Well, here goes everything.’_

The kitchen door slid open quietly, as simple a sound as it always was, completely ignorant as to what might be about to unfold. Ravla was proud of herself for not stopping and just waiting for something to happen. She caught Boba’s eye, offering an awkward smile out of reflex before she turned so that she had a view of both of them. 

Boba’s face was a stern, unreadable mask, expression stony and eyes hard. He just stood there, leaning up against a clear spot on the wall, a cup of steaming caff in one hand. Aside from the blank, closed-off expression, he looked perfectly at ease. Fennec, when Ravla looked, was almost as impassive. But she was standing perfectly still, eyes widened just a fraction. The tension in the room was _palpable_ , and Ravla fought the urge to make some terrible joke in an attempt to break it.

Finally, after several long moments, Fennec actually looked to her, eyes sliding briefly away from Boba. “When you asked… I didn’t think you were telling me everything but…” She looked Boba over again, as if she still couldn’t quite believe it. 

Boba’s features relaxed slightly. “What’s the matter, Shand? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Fennec looked between the two of them, from Ravla’s nervous expression to the subtle curl at the corner of Boba Fett’s mouth. At first, Fennec thought she’d been mistaken. That there was no possible way that she was really seeing who she thought she was in Ravla’s kitchen. But even though she’d seen the man’s face only _once_ —younger, and not quite so scarred—there was no mistaking those eyes. So dark brown that they were almost black, icy and as sharp as frozen obsidian. 

Just as she had wrapped her mind around the fact that _Boba Fett_ was alive and in the same room as her, Fennec realized that there was a significantly high possibility that _he_ was the one that had left the marks on Ravla’s neck. Fennec was honestly… sort of impressed? If his advances hadn’t been wanted, she knew for a fact that Ravla would have dosed him with enough sedatives to drop an entire herd of fathiers. 

So that meant that soft, kind-hearted little Ravla had taken Boba _fucking_ Fett into her bed. 

Fennec looked back at Ravla, and that same knowing, fox-like grin curved her lips. Ravla’s eyes widened, and her face went pink. She cleared her throat. “Well, I hope it goes without saying that I expect you two not to try to kill each other,” she said firmly.

Stirred back into motion, Fennec chuckled, shaking her head as she walked further into the room, pulling out a chair and dropping down, at the same time kicking her feet up onto the table. “You didn’t strike me as the _type_ , kitten,” she said, letting her eyes pass between them again. She paused. Was that…? Yes, that was _definitely_ a hickey on Fett’s neck. Well… damn.

Boba’s eyes narrowed a _fraction_ , feeling a surge of unbidden possessiveness in his chest. Just as quickly, he scowled internally. He had no right to feel possessive over a woman that wasn’t his. Even if she was wearing his marks, and even if he could still remember the way she’d gasped his name with perfect clarity.

Ravla walked by, shoving Fennec’s feet off the table. “Boots on the floor, please,” she said primly, even as her cheeks burned, the blush threatening to creep its way down her neck. “I was _going_ to ask what you wanted to eat, but now I’ll just pick for you.” Fennec chuckled as Ravla went to the shelf, plucking ingredients with a bit more force that necessary.

Boba couldn’t help it, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. Even blushing like a school-girl, Ravla managed to be just as snarky as ever. Then Shand was speaking to him, and he looked over. “You’ve got good taste, Fett,” she said, and there was _mirth_ in her eyes. “Got yourself the best healer this side of Tatooine.” That wasn’t _all_ she meant, not by a long shot. It was only underlined by the careful way Shand looked Ravla over before her eyes slid back to him.

 _‘Keep your eyes in your head, Shand.’_ The words were right there, hovering on Boba’s tongue and only kept back a brief clench of his teeth. He _knew_ he had no right to the feelings boiling up inside him, the sharp, almost burning urge to reach out and pull Ravla into him, to press her close and make his claim even more obvious.

“Fennec, if you were interested, you should have said something _ages_ ago,” Ravla said, cutting in on his thoughts. Both killers blinked, looking over at where she was chopping vegetables at the counter. She wasn’t looking at them, her back to the room and cleaver working quickly. Silence fell in the room, stretching out before Fennec snorted a laugh.

Boba was silent, trying very, _very_ hard not to picture the two of them together. Maker help him; he _was_ a dirty old man. 

It wasn't exactly a _comfortable_ silence, but it wasn’t as fraught with tension as it had been before. Ravla felt as if she could almost _feel_ the two of them looking at each other, silently staring each other down. Just two trained killers, taking up space in _her_ kitchen while she chopped vegetables and thought about what meat she was going to cook up. It was almost laughable, the absolute ridiculousness of the situation. 

One was quite possibly the most feared bounty hunter of his generation, who she had saved from the brink of death, _fucked_ , and then snuggled with the night before. The other was—by Ravla’s own humble estimation—a highly regarded assassin, and Ravla would be lying if she said she’d never at least _considered_ looking at the Fennec the same way she looked at Boba. And now she was cooking them lunch. She couldn’t help it; she laughed, shaking her head as she dumped the veg into an oiled pan, and started with the spices. 

“Something funny, princess?” Boba asked, pointedly ignoring Fennec’s raised eyebrow.

Ravla looked over her shoulder. “This whole…” she gestured vaguely at the kitchen. “This whole thing is… honestly kind of hilarious?” she said. “I’m a nobody, and yet I appear to have two of the best trained killers in my kitchen. And I’m _cooking_ for them.” She chuckled again, feeling warmth spread open in her chest at the roll of Boba’s eyes and upward quirk at the corner of his mouth.

“She’s got a point,” Fennec agreed. She hopped to her feet, walking over to the cabinet like she owned the place. She found the large jar of liquor and a cup, pouring herself a large measure before returning the drink to its shelf. “Oh, and Fett? Your old boss is dead.” She sat down, taking a casual sip.

Boba paused, eyes narrowing again, the curl tugging at his lips turning into a restrained grimace. “I worked for _myself_ ,” he pointed out, the slightest edge of warning creeping into his tone.”

It was Fennec’s turn to roll her eyes. “Jabba,” she clarified. “Got himself killed the same day you did. The new slave girl strangled the fat slug with her own chain.”

The grudging respect Boba felt for killing Jabba in such a brutal and fitting way was quickly sidelined by another thought. The only ‘slave girl’ Boba remembered from that day was kriffing Princess _Leia Organa_. He was momentarily stunned by the idea of that tiny, spit-fire of a woman wrapping her chains around Jabba’s non-existent neck and strangling the life out of him. That woman had been far too sharp and fierce to have been a diplomat, and he found that was decidedly _not_ surprised that she had attempted such a feat, and _won_. Hell, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d tried to rip Jabba’s throat out with her own teeth.

But if Jabba was gone, that meant a power vacuum on Tatooine, everyone scrambling for territory and credits. It also meant that he could take whatever revenge he pleased on any that had wronged him or ever gotten in his way. There was no Hutt to keep the rabble reined in, the head chopped off the snake and the underlings scattered.

“Boba, I have a question,” Ravla said, cutting into his thoughts. “Have you ever heard the name Skywalker?”

His thoughts ground to a screeching halt, and he slowly turned his head to look at her. She wasn’t looking at him, instead bent over the wide pan of vegetables and a row of spice bottles. “Why?” he asked.

Something in the tone of his voice made Ravla glance up as she sprinkled in the ground chili flakes. His expression had gone hard again, unreadable and almost sharp. “Oh…” She’d take that as a resounding _yes_. “Well, Fennec said that Jabba died because he tried to execute a Jedi and his friends. And the only Jedi I’ve ever heard of was this kid Luke, who was dumb enough to go out in a blizzard on Hoth. Nearly got himself killed.”

Boba blinked, the meaning of her words taking a moment to settle in his brain. She had been a medic on Hoth. A medic that treated Luke _fucking_ Skywalker, the bastard whose bounty had started the whole mess that ended up with him in the belly of a sarlacc. That meant that Ravla might have been there, when Boba had tracked Solo to that ice-encrusted hell-hole. The idea that they could have met before, by some stroke of chance…

He shook off the thoughts. If she had been around when Boba was there, she would have been around for Vader, and that wouldn’t have ended well for her. Not at all. The thought of that made his blood run cold, shoulders tensing, and his grip tightening on his mug until his knuckles went white. He quickly shifted his focus.

“You _knew_ that twiggy little bastard?” he said.

Ravla shrugged. “I wouldn’t say I _knew_ him, exactly? I was just the medic on duty that had to monitor him in the bacta tank, and yell at him to rest when he came out. He was polite, at least.”

Maker, it really was a small, small galaxy. Boba had to laugh, the sound coming out as a rough, incredulous chuckle. “That _‘polite’_ little bastard cut my favorite blaster in half.”

Ravla straightened, finally turning to face him. “You… you met—fought him?” She really was feeling like an idiot now. In her effort to distance herself from the horrors of war, she had cut of nearly all contact with the Rebel Alliance. She hadn’t exactly been close with the top brass, but she’d _met_ them.

Boba just made a grumbling noise. He was _not_ about to relive the fact that he had been tossed into the sarlacc pit because a half-blind, mostly deaf Han Solo had spun around and _accidentally_ damaged Boba’s jet-pack, causing it to malfunction and toss him to what should have been his death. It had _not_ been his finest hour. “Briefly,” he said.

“He’s a big war hero now,” Fennec said, sipping at her drink. “Made him a general or something, I think.”

To Boba’s surprise, Ravla laughed. “Seriously? He was… what? Barely past twenty when I met him?” The quiet, yet somehow still hot-headed pilot that she had met hadn’t had the bearing of a _general_. She couldn’t help but chuckle again, shaking her head. He’d been so young, and seemed so innocent, like the war had just swept him up and he’d gone along without question.

Still chuckling, she retrieved and began cutting up the meat while the vegetables began to sizzle. She wasn’t sure how the world could have gotten so small all of a sudden, but she was quite content with where she was in life at the moment. Even surrounded by killers, one of which had apparently clashed with one of the heroes of the Rebellion. Ravla found that… that it didn’t really bother her, somehow.

Maybe it should have. But the allegiance of a bounty hunter could be bought, and just because he’d once opposed something that she had once been loyal to didn’t take away from the fact that she _liked_ him. That he had protected her. It was a strange sense of peace that settled over her. People did all kinds of things during war, many of which they probably weren’t proud of. It felt… good, to let go of things. Because if she could judge Boba only by how he acted with her, it felt a little easier not to judge herself.


	14. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gets a little time to reflect on one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting a bit more angsty, or at least setting the stages for it. Also, no one can convince me otherwise that Fennec is not a hard-femme lesbian who likes playing with her food as much as Boba. Buuuut she's also not dumb enough to try to steal the greatest bounty hunter's newest plaything. Anyway!

The silence lingered, but Ravla was slightly more comfortable in it now. It was a bit like introducing a second tooka into the home, she thought. It was usually a good thing if they didn’t immediately start fighting, but that certainly didn’t mean that everyone was suddenly totally comfortable with one another. Ravla spent the rest of the time cooking, and musing at how bizarre her life had become. Not in a bad way, of course, but she could do without regular threats to life, limb, and property.

Once everything was cooked, she laid out three of her mismatched plates, as well as a pitcher of water. Boba came to sit down, and Ravla turned her head just enough to catch his eye, her own crinkling up in a small, almost hesitant smile. As much as she might want to laugh at the strangeness of the situation, she knew it was probably less than ideal for him. She only knew enough about Fennec to say that the woman had never sent anyone to her that would cause her harm.

She just hoped that Fennec might extend the same consideration to Boba. Hell, maybe she’d be scared enough of him and his reputation to keep quiet. At this point, Ravla would take what she could get. When the table was set, she dropped into her own seat with a sigh, nudging a chunk of squash up against the meat, smearing the simple, savory sauce across the plate. She was suddenly very tired, and just wanted to sit in a nice dark room with a holonovel and a warm cup of caff.

All at once, she missed the rain. It was something she had only experienced a handful of times in the past. Most of her teenage and adult life had been aboard starships, or on the campus of the Imperial Medical Academy. Rain had been experienced in snatches, brief moments while she was planet-side when the sky would crack open, as if the very heavens had grown tired of the world and were trying to wash it clean.

Once she had sat for hours on the open ramp to the ship, just watching the rain outside, eyes tracing the tiny rivers that formed themselves around the rocky land, winding around the stubborn scrub and grasses that seemed to eke out a living almost out of spite. As she was now, Ravla felt a bit like those plants. Tatooine was hardly hospitable, but here was, determined to live her life as she pleased, and, dare she say it, _thriving_.

With a smile, she tucked into her food, wondering a bit at how peaceful she felt with two such dangerous people at her table. She really wasn’t as soft as people thought. When others saw a medic, someone who had fought in the war and now lived in seclusion, they thought her delicate. Some scared little waif running from the horrors of battle and bloodshed. 

But Ravla hadn’t been soft since her parents had died. Made an orphan, she had been swept up into the system, only managing to crawl her way out because of how well she’d done in school. And then the academy. It had been an escape, for a little while, especially after she met Lyra…

Ravla shook her head, brushing her hair out of her face as she took several gulps of water. She didn’t want to think about that, not now when things were finally calming down. Fennec finished her food and drifted away, Ravla rising to watch her down the hall and back to the lab. Letting the door close, she lingered beside it, fingers playing over the rough texture of the wall. She turned, looking over her shoulder at Boba. Her mouth opened, but he cut her off before she could so much as make a sound.

“Stop apologizing,” he said, and she blinked, surprised expression giving away that he’d been right. Boba sighed quietly, and then extended his hand to her. “Come here.”

Ravla bit the inside of her cheek, but didn’t hesitate, feet padding quietly over the floor until she was standing beside where he sat. His hand caught hers, thumb swiping gently over her knuckles. He still didn’t really know what he was supposed to do, how to soothe her. The way he had commanded her that night, when she’d been ensnared by a nightmare didn’t seem quite right this time.

Her reaction to his perceived anger had been so _visceral_ , almost instinctual, and the more he thought about it, the more he was certain that it had been less about him, and more about cruelty she’d experienced in the past. He was no stranger to such things, but now… Now he wanted to make it _better_ , to ease the tension in Ravla’s jaw, help her find her way back to the easy way she came into his space, the way she didn’t hesitate to touch him or shoot back with her own barbs when he teased her.

“You… you did nothing wrong, little one,” he said, eyes lowered and focused on her hand curled around his. “In asking. You…”

Ravla’s heart was racing again, pounding on the inside of her ribs with such intensity that she almost imagined that it was getting harder to breathe. Boba’s usual confidence—the easy way he spoke to her—was gone, replaced with something new. Something uncertain and hesitant. But she didn’t say a word, just squeezed his hand in hers and waited for him to continue.

“It was smart to ask,” Boba began again. “You’d… you’d known Shand before, and it… it makes sense that you would ask her. She would… she would know things you might not find out otherwise.”

Oh, _Maker_ , he was trying to _reassure_ her.

If Ravla hadn’t already fallen for him, she would have then. This hardened veteran bounty hunter was doing his best to reassure her—a kindhearted little medic with no knowledge of his world—that he wasn’t angry with her. He sounded so awkward, so uncertain with gentler words. But he was _trying_ , because for whatever reason, he wanted her to feel better.

Pulling her hand from his, Ralva stepped even closer, cupping Boba’s face in her hands. It lifted easily to her, and she dipped her head to press a kiss to his mouth. It was a kiss like a gentle rain, barely a brush against his lips, but laid with intent, with _feeling_. This was her at her most vulnerable, and the intensity of that knowledge nearly made his breath catch in his throat. When she pulled away, she was smiling, some strange mix of pain and joy playing behind her eyes.

“Thank you, Boba,” she murmured, and he realized just how much he liked hearing her say his name. She said it so… so _normally_. It was just a name to her, not the title that the name Boba Fett had become as his reputation grew and spread. She said his name like he was just a man, just another soul trying to survive the hellscape of their war-torn galaxy. And he… he was fine with that, with the familiarity of it, the easy way this simple woman said his name.

Her fingers stroked over his cheeks, unbothered by the heavy scars and the emergence of a little bit of stubble. And she _smiled_ at him, the expression like gentle sunlight made flesh. It wasn’t like the sun on Tatooine, harsh, burning, and deadly. It was… it was like Naboo. Something idyllic and impossible, so far out of his reach that he only ever experienced it in passing. But there was no denying that this smile was for him, a gift he didn’t deserve but would eagerly and greedily claim.

 _‘You’re too sweet for words, cyar’ika,’_ he thought to himself, turning his head and kissing the palm of her hand. Her skin smelled of spices, familiar things that left the bittersweet tang of _home_ lingering in the back of his throat. He wanted to drown in her sweetness.

000

The day was blissfully uneventful. Fennec did absolutely _nothing_ for the rest of her day, having produced her own holopad from somewhere. Its light threw her shadow up against the screens that Ravla had set up for her, a quiet reminder that there was yet another person suddenly in her life. Ravla realized that she had grown used to solitude, had even learned to find comfort in it.

Now, with _company_ , she half expected to feel uncomfortable, anxious, or tense. Especially considering the _nature_ of that company. Instead, the quiet was… nice. Boba had taken apart a few more of the cycler rifles to clean, and Ravla had dug out her toolbox for him in case he needed it. With him at work and Fennec occupied, she wasn’t really sure what to do with herself at first.

Normally, she spent her days flitting from task to task, constantly keeping up on cleaning and maintenance so that she didn’t go mad with boredom. What holonovels she had were ones she had read over and over again, and she’d even read all of the analog books she’d found in the place. She supposed she could dig up one of her medical texts and read up on burn recovery.

With a minute shrug, she found her own holopad, pulling a stool up to the table that Boba had commandeered. His eyes lifted from his work, and Ravla smiled at him, eyes crinkling before the expression relaxed, face cast in the blue glow of the pad. She took up only a tiny corner of the table, her elbow braced on the surface and her chin cupped in her hand.

Her expression was smooth and relaxed as she read, her eyes flickering with light as she swiped through the images and text on the screen. The posture pushed out her chest just enough to deepen her clevage, his eyes traveling up to the marks peeking out from under her dress and decorating the sides of her neck. As she read, she reached up, pulling the elastic out of her hair and slipping it over her wrist. 

Her hair cascaded down about her shoulders in messy waves, her fingers pushing through it in a half-hearted attempt to settle it back to order. It didn’t do much, but Boba found his eyes tracking the motion, and the way she tucked it back behind one ear, fingers skimming the delicate piercings there. Then she was reading again, cheek pushed out as she nestled her chin back into her palm.

That same warmth lurched in his chest, spreading out like a spice-high. It was encompassing and dangerous. The calm, logical part of his brain knew it was because of how she acted, and how unused to such kindness he was. He _knew_ that was why he felt such a pull towards her, why her very presence soothed him. Maybe that was part of why the spreading warmth was always accompanied by a twinge of anxiety. Because he _knew_.

He _knew_ that there was no way for this to be forever. It just… wasn’t possible. He had things to do, more plans taking shape in his mind with news that Fennec had brought. There was no hesitation about following through with those plans. Not even Ravla’s softness brought it into question. It was just… he wanted _both_. He wanted his armor and his ship, to keep pushing and hunting as he had always done. But he also wanted _her_. Wanted that softness she carried with her, as much a part of her being as her stubbornness. 

He didn’t like it. Didn’t like the _wanting_ that seemed to have crawled under his skin, carefully weaving itself into him as surely as his scars warped his skin. It felt like too much, too fast. And yet it was calm. Simple and sweet and simply existing in some new place that it had carved for itself in his chest. And it felt _good_ to indulge in it, the same way it had felt good to just fall asleep with Ravla’s back against his chest, her body snuggled back into his and their legs tangled together.

Ravla’s focus shifted, as if she could feel someone looking at her. Glancing up, Boba’s eyes were pointed down to the part in his hands, using the tip of a pointed rasp file to clear gunk out of the crevices. For as thick and calloused as his fingers were, they were surprisingly dexterous. She felt a flutter of warmth in her cheeks; she knew from firsthand experienced _exactly_ how skilled those fingers were. 

Though, when she thought about it, she supposed the _most_ surprising thing was how gentle his hands could be. She knew the power of them; she had the bruises on her thighs and hips to prove it. But just a short while ago, his hand had been so careful as it curled around hers, the rough pad of his thumb brushing so softly over her knuckles as he did his best to soothe her anxiety. 

Part of her wanted to be angry.

He surely knew just as well as she did that this wasn’t forever. That they had only a few weeks’ time to spend together. Whatever sort of relationship they were growing, it had had an expiration date from the very _start_. And yet he insisted on being so maker-damned _perfect_. He had the audacity to touch her like she was something precious, something perfect and desirable. Something to be _cherished_.

Ravla wanted to be angry at him for it. Maybe if he’d been more casual, she wouldn’t have fallen so deeply. Maybe she wouldn’t love him. But he had worked himself under her skin, dug in with barbs or something that would be equally painful to remove. And it wasn’t his fault, really. She had been alone for so long, and he was just so many of the things she liked in a person. It had simply been a perfect storm.

And maybe… maybe it was better they had met this way. Maybe it was better than she met him after he had lived his life and come to know exactly who he was. If they had met before… Maker, what had he been like before? Something in her thought he was probably harsher, less inclined to gentle touches or lingering kisses. She’d probably still have gone to bed with him, but it wouldn’t have been the same. One of them would have invariably been gone by morning, and neither of them would have looked back on the moment with anything more than a passing, distant fondness.

Maybe it _wasn’t_ better.

It would have probably been easier to say goodbye if it had just been a momentary distraction, two people seeking release with each other for the space of a night, a brief respite from the world. If that was all their meeting had been, Ravla wouldn’t ache when she thought about how miraculous his recovery was, how he would probably be fully healed before the date she had set.

And _stars_ did it ache.

Despite all that, Ravla knew herself well enough to be sure that she preferred it this way. Preferred the feeling of _home_ Boba gave her, the way he made her feel about herself. He made her _happy_ , and she wasn’t about to trade that away for anything. True joy was worth the pain, in the end. At least to her.

The day passed quietly, Fennec vanishing briefly for the fresher and Ravla warming up leftovers for everyone when lunchtime rolled around. Eventually, she had to get up and stretch; her posture had always been horrible. She rolled her neck from side to side, groaning quietly at the loud pop. Boba’s eyes lifted to her, one hairless brow quirking upwards, almost as if to say, ‘that’s your own fault for sitting like that.’ Ravla scrunched up her face at him, tongue poking out briefly.

The expression on Boba’s face… shifted. Something darkened in his eyes, the little curl at the corner of his mouth sending a hot shiver jolting down her spine. Then his eyes lowered, sweeping over what he could see of her across the table before returning to her eyes, boring into them until she felt her breath hitch. Damn him. He hadn’t said a fucking _word_ , and she could already feel a small pulse of wet heat between her legs.

He was… he was _planning_ something. She just _knew_ it. That flicker of nervous excitement stayed with her as the room fell back into silence, and Boba returned to his work as if his eyes hadn’t just been boring into her very _soul_.

As evening rolled around, Ravla turned off her holopad, and pushed away from the table. “Alright, Fennec,” she said, rising up on her toes as she stretched her arms over her head. She turned, grabbing a pair of gloves as she walked over to the screened off area. “I’d like to have a look at your arm, make sure it’s healing up alright.” When she came around the screen, Fennec was already sitting up, rolling the sleeve of her compression shirt up to her elbow. Ravla sat down on the edge of the cot, carefully peeling back the bandages. The cut was still pink at the edges and warm to the touch.

“So…” Fennec’s voice was quiet, and she sat unmoving as Ravla retrieved some bacta gel from the nearby shelf. “You really had no idea who he was?”

There went that heat, prickling up the back of Ravla’s neck and into her cheeks. “No. I didn’t.” She was quite certain that if she looked up, Fennec would be grinning. The sound of the door opening and closing told her that Boba had left the room. Probably to use the fresher. 

“Well, seems it worked out… quite well for you,” the older woman said, a teasing edge to her voice now. “Though, I’ll admit I wouldn’t have pegged him as your type.”

No one else would have, either, in all likelihood. Because of her profession, and how kind she was, no one ever thought that she might like something… _harsher_ in the bedroom. And she didn’t go around advertising it, either. “You and everyone else,” she muttered, well aware that the blush had clawed its way up into her cheeks.

“Mm. If I’d known your tastes ran _that_ direction, I might have flirted a little harder.”

Ravla’s head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise before her brows furrowed and lips pursed. “You’re making fun of me.”

Fennec laughed softly. “Only a little. Now, if I knew for a fact you liked _women_ —ow!”

Ravla had dug her gloved fingertip into the edge of the healing cut, eyes narrowed. “I _do_ like women, Fennec, but right now, I…” She trailed off, realizing she was on the cusp of saying something she might regret. If she talked about just how deep her feelings for Boba went, that would make them _real_ , not just something she could tuck away in the back of her mind while she focused on enjoying the moment.

There was silence as she redressed the cut, just with a bacta patch this time. Ravla could _feel_ Fennec staring at her, the hair prickling on the back of her neck. Realization rolled over Fennec in a wave, all the pieces suddenly snapping into place. _‘Oh, you poor sweet thing,’_ she thought to herself. _‘You’re already head over heals for the bastard, aren’t you?’_

It was honestly… kind of tragic. Fennec couldn’t think of a more mismatched couple. Granted, it wasn’t like she actually _knew_ Boba Fett. They’d met a few times, but never done a job together. But the idea of someone of _his_ reputation falling in with someone as kind and caring as _Ravla_? It was almost laughable. But they were unmistakably comfortable with one another, easily occupying the same space without any sort of tension.

“What?” Ravla muttered, pulling back and removing her gloves. She was doing her best not to squirm under the piercing gaze of the assassin.

Fennec put on her best amused smirk. “You’re more adventurous than I gave you credit for,” she said, leaning back against the wall. “If you’re going to snag a bounty hunter, why not go for the biggest, baddest of the lot?”

Ravla snorted despite herself, shaking her head. “I honestly didn’t know. He just…” Maker, was she really doing this? Talking about her recently resurrected sex life with a professional assassin?

“Has this presence about him?” Fennec offered.

Ravla flushed, pressing her lips together to hide her smile. “Something like that,” she mumbled. She was starting to realize just how out of practice she was with people that weren’t moisture farmers. And talking about _feelings_? Maker, she’d never been good at that. But it felt… nice.

A thought occurred to Fennec, brows furrowing slightly. “Wait, how old are you, kitten?”

Maker, if Fennec had been around more, calling her _that_ … 

“Uh, twenty-seven?” Ravla replied, brows slightly furrowed.

The other woman appeared to be doing some sort of mental calculations. “Oh. That’s fine then.”

Ravla’s brows rose, face pulling in confusion. “Why would…? Oh.” 

She felt a little… prickle of irritation. It was unfounded, and pushed the irritating fact that she really knew _kriff all_ about Boba back to the front of her mind. She didn’t like that she couldn’t have said one way or another about him. But honestly? She didn’t believe he’d ever been _that_ type of bad. A murderer? Sure. A pawn for the Empire? Totally believable. A stubborn asshole who was far too smug for his own good? Most certainly. But she just couldn’t imagine that he had been the type to prey on the naiveite of young girls.

The door slid open again, the object of her thoughts stepping back into the room. Fennec reached out, patting Ravla on her shoulder. “Have fun, _kitten_.” It might have just been Ravla’s imagination, but Fennec’s eyes might have flicked in the general direction of the door when she said it.

Lips pursed, Ravla left the screened off nook, tossing her gloves into the trash. “Get some sleep, _Fen_ ,” she muttered back, pushing a hand through her hair as she walked back over to Boba. When their eyes met, she realized he still that that sharpened look about him, something primal in the gaze he raked over her. Oh, she was in _trouble_.

But hopefully… the good kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smut coming in the next chapter! Promise!


	15. Crime and Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravla explores something new with Boba. Boba wonders if she could get anymore kriffing perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this got kinkier than I intended? There are more new tags... I'm pretty sure that most Boba fans don't mind the Daddy kink stuff but I wanna give everyone a heads up that this fic is going there, too.
> 
> WARNINGS: Choking, Spanking, Daddy Kink - You should ALWAYS discuss limits and preferences before engaging in any type of impact play or kink behavior. Everything in this chapter is safe/sane/consensual, but there's no kink negotiation before hand.
> 
> EDIT: It might be to late, but the way I wrote this, you could use the chrome extension for word replacement (Y/N etc) to get rid of the word 'daddy' and replace it with something of your choice, like 'master'.

Dinner was a casual affair, a few questions traded between Boba and Fennec about the current state of things on Tatooine. Apparently, another Mandalorian had been seen out and about the planet, working as a bounty hunter. That seemed to get Boba’s attention, but he didn’t ask any further questions. Eventually, Fennec retired back to the lab, and the Ravla was alone with him again.

Boba looked her over slowly, one hand braced on his thigh and the other resting loosely on the table. She squirmed under his gaze, and he chuckled silently to himself. “Feeling antsy, princess?” There was a new edge to the pet name, more like the first time he’d used it. Sharper, maybe?

Ravla crossed her arms, rotating her head in an attempt to get her neck to crack. The stubborn knot of tension refused her attempts, and she gave a grumbling sigh. “Not used to so many _people_ ,” she finally muttered.

“Tired of my company already?” Boba snorted.

Ravla rolled her eyes and made a face. “You’re not _people_ , Boba. I actually _like_ you.”

Her words created a brief surge of conflict. He’d heard it before. Whenever anyone found out he was a clone, they had been quick to discount his humanity, falling back on anti-clone rhetoric like ‘meat-droid’, anything to dehumanize them. But Ravla… didn’t mean it that way. If anything, it just showcased her general dislike for people in general. And apparently, he scored better than them. And Fennec, though he didn’t think Ravla actively disliked the woman. Something in that satisfied him. And he could relate, people, as a whole, were trash.

Individuals, on the other hand… Sometimes they were alright. Sometimes they came with a heart far too tender for the world, and small, gentle hands all too eager to reach out in kindness.

He watched her reach up, trying to rub some of the tension out of her own shoulder. “Dank farrik…”

“There’s a simple solution to your problem,” Boba offered. Her eyes snapped back to him, pupils instantly blowing wide. He chuckled. “Well, that, too. But if you didn’t slump over, neck might not hurt so much.”

Ravla’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I’m _well_ aware,” she said, voice taking on a delicate edge. “But in case you hadn’t noticed, I _do_ have two rather significant _weights_ hanging off the front, so…” She gestured vaguely at her chest, and Boba found himself trying to remember the last time he’d wanted to laugh so much.

“Awfully mouthy tonight, aren’t you?” he said, pushing his chair back and rising to his feet. Ravla froze, eyes locked on his face as he walked over to her, reaching out catch her under the chin. “So you get bratty when you’re anxious, little one?”

Oh?

_Ooh._

Blinking briefly in realization, Ravla shifted in her chair a bit, tugging out of his grip. “It’s my house. I’ll say what I damn well _please_ , old man.” She put more into the edge of her voice, her pulse thrumming and her breath almost catching.

This time, Boba went for her throat, large hand almost completely encircling it as he squeezed. Ravla gasped, the sound sharp and half choked. His grip forced her to lean back uncomfortably in her chair as Boba bent over her. “Seems an awful lot like you’re just _looking_ for trouble, pretty thing,” he murmured, reveling in her soft little whimper, in the way she just stared up at him, open mouthed and nearly panting. “Are you going to be good for me?”

Oh, _Maker_ , did she ever want to be. She wanted him to praise her, to press compliments into her skin with his lips and teeth. But now that he’d put the idea in her head… well…

Ravla grabbed his wrist, her short nails biting into his skin as her fingers dug into him. Her neck went tight, trying—just a little—to pull herself free. “You don’t get to tell me what to do,” she hissed, swallowing hard when his grip tightened ever so slightly.

“Such a little _brat_.” 

He almost spat the last word, but the grin splitting his face was wolfish, _hungry_. Ravla’s insides squeezed, slick pulsing hot between her legs. Then he was hauling her to her feet with a hand twisted in the front of her dress. She was certain that her feet left the floor for a brief moment. It was as if the world spun beneath her feet, and suddenly she was being forced back into the counter, guided by Boba’s hand on her throat. She grabbed the counter to brace herself, head arched back.

Her whole body shuddered, breath stuttering and catching as she swallowed against his grip. Crowding into her space, Boba heard her hiss as the edge of the counter dug into her back. He paused, hovering in front of her and catching her eye. He raised a silent, questioning brow. For a moment, Ravla’s expression softened, and she smiled, giving a minute nod. Boba smiled, hand loosening briefly and his thumb racing a gentle circle at the corner of her jaw. Then the moment was gone, hand squeezing around her throat. Ravla’s pulse was racing, breath coming quick and hot against his cheek. 

Boba leaned in, speaking against the shell of her ear. “Last chance, little one.”

Ravla’s knees shook at the smoky growl of his voice, her thighs clenching tight. As much as she wanted to give in, as much as she wanted to submit and be his _good girl_ , she still thrilled at the opportunity to push back, to defy and find out what delicious punishment he would rebuke her with. She sucked in a breath, tongue darting out to swipe over her lips. 

“ _Bite_ me,” she grit out.

Boba could feel his own blood rising, pulse racing with feral sort of excitement. She was _perfect_. His laugh was short and sharp, that alone enough to bring about another sudden clench of heat between her legs. He let go of her, pulling her around and shoving her towards the door. “Your room, _mesh’la_ ,” he growled. “Now.” Even the little endearment was sharpened, and she had to take a breath to steady herself.

Ravla debated going to another room, just to spite him. But she could hear Boba walking right behind her, easily within arm’s reach. So, she did as she was told and walked calmly to her own room, spinning around to face him as he stepped through her doorway, arms crossed obstinately over her chest. Boba was silent as he locked the door behind him and brushed past her, sitting down on the bed. She turned with him, a shiver prickling the hair on her arms as they locked eyes.

“Remember your word?” Boba asked, and Ravla’s pouting expression softened slightly.

She nodded. “Yeah. Kamino.”

“You want to stop?”

“ _Fuck_ no.”

Boba smirked. “That’s my girl. Now…” He leaned back slightly, expression darkening as he patted his thigh. “Come here. Lay across my lap and get that pretty ass in the air.”

Ravla’s stomach _dropped_ , and she bit a quiet whimper into her lip. She toed out of her shoes before she crossed the room to him. But she stopped just in front of him, her back straightening and her jaw taking on a stubborn jut. Boba chuckled darkly.

“Really pushing your luck, aren’t you, princess?” 

He moved faster than she could track, and she wasn’t really sure where or how he grabbed her, only that she was tugged forward by her dress and somehow manhandled to lay belly down across his thick, warm thighs. Instantly, she bucked up, but Boba grabbed a fistful of her hair and pushed her face down into the bed. Keeping her head down, Boba stroked his other hand along her back, grabbing a handful of her ass.

“We’ll start with _ten_ ,” he said, feeling her entire body quake with a harsh shiver, arms drawn in tight under her chest. “And you’re going to _count_. Understand?” He squeezed her ass roughly. 

“Y-yes, sir!” The words rushed out of her in a gasp, body tightening in anticipation.

Boba blinked, then smirked down at the back of her head. “ _Sir_? Well, that’s an improvement.” He let go of her, only to bring his hand back down in a sharp, open-palmed _smack_ , starling a cry from her lips. “But not enough to get you out of punishment. Now _count_ , little one.”

“One!” Ravla squeaked, well aware that Boba was barely using a fraction of his strength. Not to mention she still had the meager protection of her dress and underwear.

Boba hummed his approval, letting his hand stroke briefly over her before it pulled back to land another sharp blow. He hit the _exact_ same spot, lighting up a spark of burning pain. “Two! _Kriff…_ ”

She tried to brace for the next strike, silently grateful for the brief soothing stroke of his warm hand before she was jolted with the next hit. “Three!” She could feel him hardening against her belly, her cunt clenching wetly.

Above her, Boba could see the flush crawling up her neck, the tips of her ears nearly scarlet. As his hand pulled away, he felt her tense, trying to brace herself for another repeated strike. Instead, he laid the next one right at the crease of her thigh on the opposite side, startling an ugly, garbled whine out of her, body jerking briefly with the instinctive urge to pull away.

But she stayed put, the face she’d buried into the bed turning to the side as she gasped, “f-four!”

Boba began to spread the slaps out, never hitting the exact same place twice, but overlapping them. She began to whimper in earnest, body squirming in his lap. Ravla kept counting, feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes. With each strike, the pain would surge and quickly plateau, lifting her up and dropping her back down, her brain flooding her body with a strange mix of endorphins and adrenaline.

“ _Kriff_! Nine!” The word came out almost as a squeal, and she sagged in Boba’s lap, panting.

The hand in her hair gentled, moving to brush it away from her face, rough fingers sweeping away the tears that had escaped. “You’re being so good, little one,” he purred, and she whimpered, nudging her face into his palm. “Taking your punishment so well.”

The last strike caught both cheeks, and Ravla turned her head to muffle her sharp cry into the mattress. “T… t-ten…” she rasped.

Boba hummed softly, stroking his hand gently over her abused backside. “ _There_ you go, sweet thing. You understand your place now?”

Ravla nodded, sniffling softly. “Y-yes, sir,” she murmured.

Folding down, Boba kissed the side of her head. “That’s my good girl.” 

He grabbed a fistful of her skirt, yanking it up to bunch around her waist. She whimpered at the rasp of clothing as he pulled her underwear down around her thighs. The sight of her reddened cheeks made Boba _growl_ , a possessive thrill rushing through him. The thought of leaving _more_ marks—lashes made with leather that left raised, red welts—flickered through his mind.

“Now… you’re going to count to ten again. And after, you’re going to _thank_ me.” Her body tensed, squirming in his lap as she tried to rise. Boba quickly pushed her back down.

“B-but—!”

Boba chuckled darkly. “What? You thought you were _done_?” He palmed one naked cheek and squeezed roughly. “Not yet, _cyar’ika_. After all…” His fingers dipped between her legs, skimming through her soaked folds. “You seem to be enjoying yourself _plenty_.”

Ravla couldn’t help herself, hips lifting in an attempt to get his fingers to touch her clit. “’M _sorry_ , Boba,” she whined, whimpering as he pulled away.

Boba grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her up on her elbows to growl in her ear. “No, you don’t get to use my name yet. But I’ll be _nice_ and give you options. You can keep calling me ‘sir’…” His fingers dipped into her folds again, pushing one thick finger inside her. “Or _Daddy_.”

Ravla’s eyes widened, her entire body wracked by a sudden, intense shiver. She clenched down around his finger, and he could practically _feel_ the rush of fresh slick as her thighs quaked. She _liked_ the idea, and it was all he could do not to roll her over and kiss the life out of her. But she had to decide, had to speak her choice aloud. It was fine if she didn’t; if she was too shy. But, _oh_ , did he _hope_.

Slowly, Ravla turned her head to the other side, glancing at Boba out of the corner of her eye. “O-okay, Daddy.” Boba’s cock was positively _throbbing_ , a rough groan ripping through him at the quiet, meek way she spoke. She was embarrassed, but unmistakably aroused.

He rewarded her by slipping his finger from her cunt, and pushing it up over her clit, stroking the engorged bundle of nerves a few times, and smiling down as she shivered and groaned. He stroked her thigh gently, smearing her slick over the soft skin. His growling, approving hum was like molten honey, slowly rolling through her senses, stoking the fire that burned in her veins. 

“Thank you for being so good for Daddy, little one,” he purred, rubbing her back soothingly. “Are you read to start again?” Ravla nodded urgently. “No, I need you to _answer_ , sweet girl.”

“’M ready, Daddy.” 

Maker, just _saying_ it… Ravla wanted to squirm, to curl up in a ball and hide. It wasn’t like she was _ignorant_ about this sort of thing. Her academic mind wouldn’t let her venture into something new without at least a _little_ research on the topic. It had been… vaguely interesting. But somehow hearing it in Boba’s smoky, granite-rough voice just… sent chills down her spine. While at the same time positively _inflaming_ her. She filed the information away for later contemplation, closing her eyes and taking a trembling breath as Boba’s hand lifted away from her.

The first strike against her bare ass was sharp and stinging, her startled cry of, “one!” tapering off into a soft, pained whimper.

Boba let his hand linger now, knowing she was already tender. He stroked the hot, tender flesh for a moment before his hand yanked away, cracking back down an instant later.

“Two!”

He stroked the abused flesh tenderly between every strike, hearing her grateful whimper and shivering sigh each time.

“Three!”

Her ass and thighs jiggled with each blow, her whole body lurching over his lap, stomach rocking against his erection. It was just barely enough to tease him, but he still arched up a fraction, sucking air through his teeth at the subtle rasp of fabric against the sensitive flesh.

“F-five!” Her ass was _burning_ , every muscle in her body screaming for her to wrench away from the pain. But Boba was murmuring to her so sweetly.

“Such a good girl,” he purred. “Taking your punishment so _well_. Such a perfect little plaything.” Maker, she could withstand _anything_ just to hear more praises in that beautiful, scratchy rumble of his. Another strike, her whole body going rigid and a sharp cry pushing out through grit teeth. She was crying freely now, every breath a shuddering gasp.

“Six!”

Suddenly, Ravla felt as if she was being swept away, and also hadn’t moved an inch. Everything else faded in at the edges, drawing in and in until all she could feel and hear was Boba. She was floating, body awash in a drug-like chemical haze. She was sure that if he let go of her, if he took his hands off her, she would just… float away. At the same time, her body felt heavy, like it was being dragged into the mattress, plastered across Boba’s lap like it was exactly where she was meant to be.

Boba felt the change in her body, the way it sagged against him. Her breathing changed, going deep and steady. She hummed gently when he flatted his hand against the most recent bow. “Do you need to stop?”

It was like he was speaking to her underwater, his words somehow crystal clear and deeply muddled at the same time. She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to be good for him, to take everything he had to give. To prove just how much of a good girl she could be. Some dim part of her was aware that he wanted an answer, and Ravla shook her head. “No, Daddy… ‘M fine.” She felt a soft touch at her temple, and his voice in her ear.

“Good girl, Ravla.” The words made her hum happily, body stretching out over him, relaxed and eager. “Can you keep counting?”

“Mm-hm. We’ve done… six.” Her voice was quiet, slurring around consonants as if she were half asleep. But Boba knew better, knew that she was acutely aware of him and his actions, of the way her skin prickled with abuse and pleasure.

“Good.”

With the next slap, Ravla moaned openly, turning her, “sevvv— _ven_!” into a stuttered, nearly incoherent whine. 

Boba shivered, feeling warmth gathering on his thigh. Maker, she was _dripping_ , ass red and almost bruised. His body was nearly vibrating, hunger and desire thrumming in his veins. Two more strikes and her ability to focus seemed to have abandoned her, her counting more like garbled moans and whimpers than actual numbers. She was shaking, hands balled into fists around the blankets under her. 

“You’re being so good, little one,” he murmured. “Just one more. Can you take one more for Daddy?” All he got was a hummed affirmative. With the last slap, her whole body tightened and shivered, her hips juddering forward in his lap.

Ravla managed a whispered, “tnnn…” voice cracking and dissolving into a whimper. Just as quickly, she was arching her ass up into his hand again. “C’n take more, Daddy. Many as y’ want. Wanna be y’r good girl…”

A smile that was downright _fond_ curved Boba’s lips. Maybe she _could_ take more. She definitely _wanted_ to. But she was drifting too deep, nearly incoherent. They would have to discuss her limits properly later. But for now, Boba just stroked his palm smoothly over her reddened cheeks. “It’s alright, _cyar’ika_ ,” he breathed, pitching his voice low and soft. “You’re done. You did so _so_ good for me. Daddy’s perfect girl.”

Slowly, he rolled her onto her back, slipping an arm around her shoulders and lifting her into a sitting position. He scooted back on the bed, stroking her back and pressing gentle kisses into her hair. When her head lolled back, eyes dark and unfocused, Boba bent to press a kiss to her cheek, brow bumping gently against hers.

“C’mon now, Ravla. Need you to come back to me.” 

He spoke softly, almost as if trying to calm a skittish animal. She was so lost in bliss and euphoria that he didn’t want her to startle, to drop out of that perfect space of submission, pain, and desire. He continued to stroke her cheek, his other hand smoothing over her thigh, carefully peeling her underwear over her knees to drop around her ankles.

Ravla blinked, Boba’s face slowly coming back into focus. He was smiling at her, and her heart swelled, an answering expression crossing her face. The world came back in pieces, coming slowly together as she breathed slow and deep. She felt a strange mix of bone-deep weariness and the burning ache of unsatisfied desire, hot and insistent between her legs. He was touching her so gently, as if trying to soothe her into sleep.

Her brows furrowed, and she wiggled, grinding down against the hardness digging into her backside. “Don’t wanna be done yet,” she murmured.

He just chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t worry. I’m _far_ from done with you, _mesh’la_.” Ravla smiled, and didn’t protest as he lifted her, turning to lay her out with her head on the pillows. He undid the sash at her waist, peeling open her dress and reaching under her to undo the clasp of her bra. He undressed her slowly, pulling her dress from under her and letting it fall off the side of the bed. 

Then he crawled over her, her arms sliding over his shoulders and dragging him into a slow, deep kiss. She licked hungrily into his mouth, nails scraping gently over the back of his neck. When he broke the kiss, she grumbled softly, only to sigh as he sucked her nipple into his mouth. “You were so perfect for Daddy, _cyar’ika_ ,” he praised, her hand tightening on the back of is head when he reached down between her legs. “Are you going to remember to be a good girl for me?”

Ravla nodded swiftly. “Uh-huh. Wanna be good for you, Boba.”

He didn’t correct her, loving the way his name sounded on her lips just as much as the title. His finger circled her clit, and she hummed, legs spreading wider for him. “Now, good girls get to choose. You wanna come like this?” He rocked her finger with more pressure on her clit, moving to her other nipple as she moaned softly. “Or do you want to come on my cock while I fuck you?”

Armed with her new knowledge, Ravla lifted her head, catching and locking Boba’s eyes. “I want you to fuck me, Daddy.”

The throb of arousal that clenched at the base of his spine was almost _painful_ , and he groaned into her chest, hand slipping from her cunt to squeeze her thigh. He didn’t even think to undress, just rearing up on his knees and popping the button of his fly, pushing his pants just low enough on his hips to free his leaking cock. She spread her legs wide for him, reaching down to grab the backs of her knees and hauling her legs up towards her chest.

Grabbing her by the hips, Boba yanked her down to him. Using one hand to angle himself, he stroked the head of his cock through her folds, their groans of pleasure mingling in the charged air. Then he was sliding into her, slow and steady and bottoming out with a curse. Her cunt was _molten_ , slippery and squeezing down on him like a _vice_. She threw her head back, exposing her throat as she groaned openly.

At his first thrust, she let go of her legs, instinctively grabbing for his shoulders. Boba caught one of her legs, pushing it back up to keep her open for him. He drove into her, the wet slap of flesh almost obscenely loud in her small room. He could feel her slick smear on her inner thighs, dampening the fabric of his trousers. He didn’t care, latching onto her neck and worrying an already dark hickey between his teeth.

Ravla’s nails dug in sharply, and Boba’s hips snapped forward, his rhythm stuttering. Ravla did it again, raking her nails up over his shoulders and down his biceps, making his cock throb and twitch as he growled into her neck. Hooking both her legs over his hips, he began fucking her in earnest, rhythm harsh and unrelenting. She cried out, squeezing down around him. Boba knew he wasn’t going to last long, the molten clench of her sopping pussy pulling him quickly to the edge.

So he put a hand between them, finding the little jut of her clit in the crush of their bodies. He let his thrusts push his hand, fingers grinding and rolling over the little nub until she was practically writhing. Her legs squeezed around him, one hand dropping from his shoulders to fist in the pillow beneath her. 

She was breathtaking. Head thrown back, dark hair spread out around her head, color high in her cheeks. Her tits bounced with each thrust, and he was unable to resist reaching up to tweak a nipple harshly between his fingers. Her moan morphed into a high, shrill whimper, and Ravla felt her entire body going tight, twisted and wound up like a spring. Her breathing stuttered, chest seizing for what felt like an eternity packed into a single moment.

And then she was falling, her entire abdomen contracting in waves, squeezing down on Boba’s cock as he fucked her through it. A low, punched-out groan left her, eyes fluttering open to lock on Boba’s. She wanted to see him, wanted to watch him come undone as he was buried inside her. Cupping his cheek, she smiled, something dark and hungry in the expression.

“Please, Daddy,” she whispered. “Wanna feel you come. Feel you dripping out of me…”

Sweet, suffering _Maker_.

Boba’s back bowed, head falling towards her chest as his thrusts stuttered, one hand grabbing her hip in a bruising grip to hold her against him, groaning a deep, guttural curse as he spilled inside her. Ravla moaned softly at the well of liquid heat inside her, eyes fluttering closed as she clenched herself around him, wanting to milk out every last drop. He sagged against her, going down on his elbows as his chest pressed into hers.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispered, vehement and sharp against her skin. Ravla just hummed in satisfaction, pushing her hands up the back of his shirt to stroke his back. They hung in bliss there together for a moment, Ravla kissing the side of Boba’s head as he panted into her neck.

When he finally pulled away, she let her eyes close, listening to Boba move about the room. He came back with something, gently cleaning between her legs before stepping away again. Beyond her closed lids, the light went off, and she heard the rustle of fabric before Boba was touching her shoulder.

“Under the covers, little one.”

Humming her acknowledgement, Ravla wiggled her way under the blankets, scooting over when she felt Boba crawl in with her. As he pulled her close, she realized that he was completely naked. He lay on his back, and she tucked herself up against his side, head pillowed on his shoulder and one leg hooked over his. Her hand idly stroked his chest. Nimble fingertips found the tiniest smattering of chest hair, and she smiled to herself in the dark.

Boba turned, not even really thinking about it as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “You alright?” he asked softly.

“Mmm,” Ravla hummed, “I’m _perfect_. Might hurt to sit down tomorrow though.”

He snorted a laugh, the relaxation of the afterglow tugging his eyes closed. “You’re a healer. You can get rid of any… _lingering discomfort._ ”

Ravla’s snort was dismissive. “Psh, _no_.” She nuzzled into his chest, sighing softly. “I wanna feel every ache and pain in the morning. I’ll get absolutely _nothing_ done because all I’ll be able to think about is you.”

Oh.

Oh, _fuck_.

Small and mighty gods, this woman was _perfect_. Submissiveness with a biting edge, a love of things wild and harsh, all wrapped up in the most gentle, _loving_ shroud. Fuck.

 _Fuck_.

Boba didn’t want to leave. 

No, that wasn’t quite right.

He _did_ want to leave… but he also wanted to take Ravla with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It also ended up... fluffier than intended? And yes, the mando Fennec mentions is Din, prior to the events of the show.
> 
> Come say high on tumblr! You can find me @ mando-cyare !


	16. Morning Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early morning laziness and Boba considered the path ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have some short smut and character introspection, mostly from Boba. Next chapter will be much more Ravla-centric. That means BACKSTORY people!

Ravla was surprised that she stirred awake first, eyes fluttering open in the dark of her room. She was on her side, one arm draped lazily across Boba’s stomach. He was still on his back, and she smiled as she blinked his face into focus. He looked so different while he was asleep. His face would never be smooth, with deep lines around his eyes and mouth, as well as the heavy scarring circling around from the back of his skull. The scar coming down his forehead, between his eyes, and across the opposite side of his face was older than the rest, and she resisted the urge to trace its path with her finger.

Despite all that, he looked so… calm. All the pain of years and years simply melting away in sleep. Ravla smiled to herself, feeling strangely blessed that he trusted her to see him like this. That he trusted her enough to sleep soundly in her bed, naked and vulnerable. Even if she hadn’t known him very long, she could easily imagine that it wasn’t something he did often, or even very much at all. Warmth spread open in her chest, creeping through her tired limbs.

As her eyes traveled down from his face, a flicker of mischief sparked in her eyes. Her hand moved down carefully, slipping slowly beneath the covers to draw slow circles on his upper thigh. As she’d suspected, he stirred at the soft touch, eyes flickering open and lowering to her grinning face.

“Morning,” Ravla murmured, fingers circling the base of his half-hard erection.

“Morning, _cyar’ika_ ,” he hummed, voice gone harsh and gravely with the rasp of sleep. 

Ravla shivered, giving him a few slow, soft strokes. His cock twitched in her hand, quickly swelling. “What does that mean?” she asked. “Shar-ee-ka?”

He let his eyes close again, focusing on the delicious warmth of her soft hand, rumbling a sigh of satisfaction. “Mmm… means ‘sweetheart’,” he murmured. “Or—mm—‘darling’…”

Heat prickled in Ravla’s cheeks, and she smiled, picking up her rhythm just a little, the velvet soft skin rolling under her hand. “Term of endearment, hm? Think I like it…” It _could_ have meant something else, but no matter how much she might _want_ him to mean it like that, she was under no illusions. Pet names and little diminutives just seemed to come naturally to him.

She sat up in the bed, coming up on her knees as she peeled back the blankets. Boba’s eyes opened to watch her shuffle down, legs spreading to let her crouch between them. He reached for her, brushing her hair from her face to cup her cheek. “You _want_ something, princess?”

Ravla kept stroking, still slow and steady as her grip tightened ever so slightly. “You’ve gone down on me a few times now,” she said, turning to press a kiss into his palm. “Wanted to return the favor.” Her eyes were positively alight with desire, pupils blown wide. Leaning in, she used her hold on him to lick at the head of his cock with the flat of her tongue, searing hot and deliciously slow.

Boba’s fingers twitched on the side of her head, as if resisting the urge to curl into her hair. His gaze was searing, and Ravla felt an answering throb of heat between her legs. Eyes closing, she sucked the tip of him into her mouth, spinning her tongue around the head. His soft groan was enough to make her shiver, and she hummed around him, pooling saliva in her mouth to slick the way as she began to bob up and down.

He wanted to close his eyes, to drop his head back down on the pillow and focus on the hot, wet suction of her mouth. But she looked so good like this, crouched between his legs with her breasts pillowed on his thighs. Full lips stretched around him, and her soft face cast in shadow. If he hadn’t just woken up, he would have wanted to get up and turn the light on, just to see her face and expressions painted in perfect detail, to sear the image into his memory.

But then she hollowed her cheeks and _sucked_ , and his head thumped back into the pillow with a muffled groan. Her tongue continued to spin back and forth across the underside of him, one hand lowering to gently cup his balls. Now, he had to focus on not rocking up into her mouth, and he took a long, slow breath, the exhale coming out in a shudder.

Ravla had learned that aside from actual words—filthy, _dirty_ words—Boba was relatively quiet during sex. It could be that her _own_ cries were simply too loud in her own ears. All the same, she thrilled to hear him like this, each quiet sound going rough and harsh as they rumbled up the back of his throat. She quickened her pace, taking more and more of him into her mouth. She might have been a bit out of practice, but she had never had much of a gag reflex.

Her eyes still watered slightly when he hit the back of her throat, Boba’s next groan coming a little louder, his hand sinking into her hair. He didn’t push her down, but she could feel the twitch of his fingers in her tangled hair, and smirked to herself. When she went still for half a moment, he looked up. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she swallowed him down, jaw aching softly at the stretch. The angle wasn’t right to really see his face as he slid into the back of her throat, but the judder of his hips under her, and the cracked, half-broken curse he let out was more than enough.

Boba liked to think he was good at anticipating things. He’d had to be; bounty hunting was a cut-throat and vicious business. Everyone was all too happy to jump on the opportunity to cut out some of the competition. Thus, with nearly thirty years of experience, not much surprised Boba Fett anymore. But _then_ … this plump little healer had taken his cock to the root without so much as wincing, eyes blown dark as they looked up at him. They were bright now, scant, unshed tears hanging in the corners. Then they fluttered closed as she pulled back and did it _again_. And _again_.

“ _Osik, cyar'ika_ …” The curse tumbled out of him, his hand balling into a fist in her hair, hips rocking up ever so slightly, meeting her new rhythm as gently as he could manage. 

Ravla could feel the tension in his thighs, his whole body shuddering as she kneaded his balls gently in her palm. She pulled off of him with an obcene, wet pop, a long strand of saliva trailing from her lip to the head of his cock. Her soft, pink tongue darted out, breaking the string as she took a few deep breaths. “You can direct me,” she said, voice dancing on the edge of breathless. She lifted a hand to touch the one he still had wound into her hair. “I can just slap your thigh if I need to stop.”

Boba swallowed, cock twitching in her peripheral. Instead, he sat up, grabbing under her arms and manhandling her to straddle his thighs. Using his fistful of hair to direct her, he dragged her into a searing kiss, licking hungrily into her mouth. Despite wanting to continue as she had been, Ravla melted against him, her hips rocking forward to grind his cock between their bellies. That got her a swallowed growl and a sharp nip at her bottom lip.

When she reached for him, Boba blocked her hand. “Easy there, little one,” he purred, his voice alone enough to make her cunt clench with another rush of heat and slick. “You’ll get what you’re after.” He put his own hand between them, leaning back enough to dip his fingers between her legs. She was slick and flushed with arousal, and he broke the kiss to bite a groan into her neck. “Stars, girl… you’re this wet from sucking my cock?”

Ravla squirmed as he started to play with her, trailing his fingers through the slick to bring it over her clit, the little nub swollen and firm with desire. “Like it,” she mumbled, arms going over his shoulders. “Like makin’ you feel good.” When one finger dipped into her, she hummed, rocking herself down on him. In answer, Boba pushed two fingers inside of her, curling them to massage that spot inside her, making her groan at the deep, sudden pressure.

“I’ll give you what you want, don’t worry.” Boba began to pump his fingers, feeling her try to shift to give him better access. Ravla bowed her head to his neck, breath hot and humid against his skin. She could taste the subtle salt of him, and latched onto him with a whimpered sound. Feeling her sucking at his skin, Boba angled his thumb to catch her clit with each thrust, catching her earlobe between his teeth.

Just as quickly, he stopped, chuckling at her disappointed whine. He reached behind her to pull at the backs of her thighs, bringing her up onto her knees. Understanding his intent, Ravla was happy to comply, angling her hips and shivering at the press of his cock at her entrance. As she dropped herself down, she whimpered, relishing the way she stretched around him, the slick, easy slide combined with the gentle burn of the sudden entry. He felt so solid and warm, and she bit her lip, squeezing down on him.

“ _There_ you go, little one,” Boba murmured, one hand patting her flank as the other skimmed up and down her back. She was curled into him, nuzzling into his neck and shoulder and peppering the scarred skin with breathless kisses. His hands finally settled on her hips, starting to drag her back and forth, rolling his hips up into her.

“K-kriff…” was all Ravla could get out, heat spinning out from her core and seeping into her limbs, making her feel heavy. This was such a far cry from anything they’d done before; slow, warm, and more gentle than she’d thought him capable of. The way he was rolling her hips was grinding her clit against his pelvis, stoking the slowly building fire that had taken root deep in her belly. She would have been perfectly happy just letting him fuck her mouth and swallowing down his release. But this was good, too.

Really good.

_‘The perfect way to start the day,’_ she mused idly, eyes closed as she just focused on the slow, perfect build of heat. Boba’s breath was loud and almost ragged in her ear, and she squeezed down on him just to hear his voice catch, whatever he’d been about to say torn up in the rasp of his voice. She pulled back from him just enough to catch his eye, her hand lifting to cup his cheek. 

Maker, but he was beautiful. Not in the traditional sense, maybe. Boba Fett was beautiful in the way a lightning storm was beautiful, in the way a mountain reared up above the clouds, as serene and powerful as it was deadly. As much as she meant the kiss to be quick and hungry, it quickly became slow and gentle, her nose fitting perfectly against his as he licked into her mouth. The soft brush and lingering press of lips consumed her, her whole body tightening as she shivered.

Maker, it felt good to kiss him. The way his tongue slipped against hers, teeth catching her bottom lip. His hand slid around to cup the back of her neck, warm, rough, and grounding. It was almost like dropping into subspace. The world just… fell away, and Boba was all that remained. Ravla’s heart ached with a sudden clench, with the deep, desperate yearning that this could be forever, that she could just _live_ in this moment.

Her kiss was so full of tenderness. Ravla kissed him like he was precious, like he was something dear and beloved. She kissed him like she craved him, like there was nothing more that she desired in the galaxy. The sweetness of it choked him, the slick, velvet heat of her cunt taking that tender feeling and twisting it, intertwining it so deeply with his carnal desire that he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. It _burned_ him with its intensity, clawing through his flesh and down to his very bones, stubborn and unmoving.

Boba wrapped his arm around her back, squeezing her tight and lifting her up on her knees. Ducking away from the kiss, he laid a tender trail of kisses down the side of her neck. Holding her tight against him, Boba shifted, going up onto his knees and leaning back on the balls of his feet. With the new leverage, he began to fuck up into her, his hips slapping wetly against the backs of her legs. She clung to him, nails digging into his back as she let out a startled, blissful cry at the change in rhythm. Somehow, the angle was still grinding her clit perfectly, her own slickness smearing between their bodies. Her cries grew in volume, and she did her best to muffle them into his neck.

“Still with me, _cyar’ika_?” he grunted, and Ravla nodded hurriedly into his neck. “Did you still want to taste me?” Another desperate nod, her breathing quickening, sharp and hot against his skin. He kept up his pace, feeling her body begin to quake and her cunt fluttering around him. “You can finish me once you come on my cock, little one.”

His growled words stoked the fire in her, and she whimpered an eager affirmative, feeling herself rising to the brink. “Th-thank you…” she gasped, thighs going tight. She was so close, so _desperately close_.

“You’re so sweet for me, _mesh’la_ ,” he whispered, tenderly kissing the side of her neck. “Such a good girl…”

A few more grinding thrusts was all it took, and Ravla was clinging to Boba as she broke apart, color bursting behind closed lids as her entire body shivered and clenched. Boba was murmuring praise in her ear, hands clutching at her back and hips. It was as if he caught her in her fall from the blissful high, pulling her back to earth and wrapping her in the safety of his embrace.

“So fucking good,” he purred, the pace of his thrusts slowing. “Are you ready for me, _cyar’ika_? I’m close.”

It took effort, but Ravla pulled back, licking her lips and nodding. “Please.” With a smirk on his lips, Boba sat back, easing her off of him. Ravla practically scrambled to put herself between his legs again, sucking his cock into her mouth and shivering at his broken groan. She took him as deep as she could, bobbing her head and stroking the rest with a firm, twisting grip.

Boba’s hand sank into her hair, body curling in over her. “Look at me.” Her eyes flicked up, and the sight of her looking up at him through wet lashes, small mouth stretched around his cock was the last little push he needed. She let him push himself deep, arching up and coming down the back of her throat, feeling her choke and then working to swallow. He _poured_ into her mouth, gently bitter and almost sweet. She had to swallow four times before he was gone, and she gentled the slow sweep of her tongue, the hand she had braced on his thigh feeling him shiver with the aftershocks.

Boba let his eyes close briefly, guiding her off of him. He felt her tongue dart out to catch the last drop leaking from his tip, hips twitching with overstimulation. Moving his hand under her chin, Boba guided her back up to him as he laid down. Ravla cuddled into his side again, feeling the heat of his skin against her cheek.

If she focused, she could hear the rapid thrumming of his heart, easily feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he came down. She felt him looking at her and lifted her face, an impish grin playing around her lips. “Good morning, Boba,” she said sweetly. And, _Maker_ , watching a smile twist his lips as he chuckled and rolled his eyes made her stomach drop. “Boba, I l—” She quickly broke off, biting back the damning words with a quick clearing of her throat. “I liked that. A _lot_.”

Boba snorted. “Could tell,” he muttered. “’Good morning’, she says.”

“I’m sorry, is that _not_ how you wanted to be woken up?” she teased. He appeared not to have guessed what she had almost said, and she was glad for it. She didn’t want to complicate an already complex situation.

With his one arm circled around her shoulders, Boba reached over with the other hand and tweaked one of her nipples, making her squeak and jerk. “Don’t be a brat,” he muttered, but there was no warning in his voice, only contentment. 

Ravla hummed. “But see… being a brat still ends up well for me so—ow!” He had tweaked her nipple again, and she rolled away from him, sending a mock glare over her shoulder as she sat up. She made a show of making a face at him, scooting to the edge of the bed and moving over his legs.

The motion allowed Boba a proper view of his ass, and his cock twitched weakly. The faintest feather of bruises colored her skin, vague outlines of his palm and fingers scattered among the reddened flesh. Ravla only noticed when she had to pull on a pair of underwear, hissing softly at the friction over sensitive skin. She didn’t have to turn to know that Boba was smirking smugly to himself, and she secreted a smile of her own as she dressed.

While she brushed her hair, she finally turned, finding Boba already dressed for the day. His hand smoothed over his jaw, and then lifted to curve over the back of his head. She remembered the little prickle of hairgrowth, and tilted her head in thought. “I can get you a razor if you’d like,” she offered. What hair he’d had left before she’d needed to shave everything had been dark and thick, a few pieces showing her a vague curl pattern. The patchy shadow around his mouth and jaw also indicated he could have grown a rather impressive beard if he had wanted to.

“That would be appreciated,” Boba said with a nod.

Ravla smiled and nodded. “I’ll have something for you by the end of the day.”

The smile and little accompanying bob of her head had _no right_ to be as endearing as it was. She was just… so agreeable and easy to be around. Once, when he was young, Boba had hated people like that. Always making way for others, going out of their own way to make them comfortable before. It had just seemed so utterly foolish to him. He had taken advantage of such kindness without a thought.

Now, such a person stood before him, caring for him. And the thought that some other might come along… That _he_ —if they had met in another time, another place—would have taken advantage of her kindness, of her drive to help those that had been hurt… The thought of doing such a thing _now_ … now that he _knew_ her, knew the depths of her strength and determination, that he knew how _fierce_ her kindness was…

_Guilt_ twisted inside him. It was distant and secondary—he hadn’t done anything—but the _idea_ of it, of knowing what his former self would have done. It had never… it had never twisted like this, never dug into his guts with the cold, harsh fingers of reality. The man that the war had made him, the man he’d chosen to become… 

Boba thought of his father, of Jango. His father had never told him directly, but he had learned a few things over the years. His father had been Mand’alor, had fought in the Mandalorian civil wars. Boba’s knowledge of the Mando’a had grown fuzzy with years of disuse, but he still remembered his father’s favorite word with crystal clarity. _Mandokar_ , the epitome of Mandalorian virtue; a potent mix of a lust for life, loyalty, tenacity, and aggression.

That… _that_ was what Boba wanted.

As hope of properly avenging his father had begun to fade, Boba had latched onto the need for _more_. More money, more power. More weapons, more bounties, more notoriety. And he _gotten_ it. Boba Fett had been the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy, called upon by the elite and the despised alike, anyone who could afford him. And for what?

All to be forced into a sarlacc pit after a half blind, two-bit smuggler had spun around and _accidentally_ damaged his jet pack.

An absurdly anticlimactic end for a… Well… not a _good_ man. But maybe a great one, if all the stories were to be believed. Stepping out into the hall, Boba paused, watching the door slide shut behind Ravla. So… he had been a great Bounty Hunter, made a lifetime of enemies and a handful of people he grudgingly respected. He had tied himself to the Empire, signing their contracts because they offered him more money than he’d ever seen.

It had gotten him nothing, in the end. Nothing but more scars in a week than he’d built up in a lifetime. Now, he wanted more again. More than _just_ money or power. Power, still but… different. More than just… More than just the shut off little world of his ship. He wanted to live for _himself_ , to swear himself to no one and nothing. Nothing but himself.

It was a strange thing, to have such an epiphany in the hallway, surrounded by the off-white stone so common on Tatooine. Down the hall, a former Rebel medic was checking on an assassin formerly employed by the Hutts. A former Rebel medic he was _sleeping_ with. 

One that he wanted to take with him.

Maker, and it was said that the _young_ were foolish. And what was he being if not foolish? He could hardly be called young anymore. He wouldn’t do either himself or Ravla the disservice of entertaining any childish notions. Thoughts of a young and hopeful mind that he had never had the chance to have, so what was the point in letting them flourish now? Better to just enjoy the moment.

Ravla looked up when Boba entered the room, and Fennec caught the smile the girl sent him, a smirk pulling at her own lips. She had it _bad_. Even if Fennec had never been really interested in men—let along what interested _them_ —but she could see that there was something in Boba, too. Some small place in him gone soft over Ravla. Fennec could understand, too. If there was anyone to go soft over, Ravla was a good choice. She was stable, competent, and smart enough to get herself out of situations where she wasn’t. 

And from Fennec and heard last night… the two of them got along _famously_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say high on tumblr! Username: mando-cyare


	17. Teeth of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fennec leaves, and a coming storm leads Ravla to discussing a bit of her past. Boba realizes a few things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut this chapter, but there's plenty of fluff and angst instead! Sorry it's a bit shorter than usual. I want to thank everyone here so very much. I've never had a story do so well, and it's mostly thanks to all you lovely readers!

Fennec was set to leave later that day, everything set up with her contact. If Ravla was being honest, she was glad for it. She far from disliked the woman, but the knowing looks she kept sending in Ravla’s direction were getting a little… Well, maybe not _annoying_ , but…

After preparing and bringing out food for everyone, Ravla sat down on a stool, completely forgetting just how tender her backside was. She was able to stifle the sharp inhale of pain, but her face went tight for a moment before she carefully adjusted. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Boba was smirking down at his own food, and she resisted the urge to _glare_.

“You sleep alright?” Fennec said from across the table, making Ravla’s stomach drop and swoop, heat creeping up the back of her neck.

“You just seem a little… _stiff_ is all,” Fennec said with a shrug, something sharp glittering in her dark eyes. Across the table, Boba’s eyes lifted, slightly narrowed. Fennec was unphased. “Maybe get a new pillow… or try sleeping in a new position?”

Ravla’s ears were _burning_. There was absolutely no way that Fennec hadn’t heard. It took every ounce of self-control Ravla had not to hide her face in her hands and groan. She was by no means _ashamed_ of what they’d indulged in, but _Maker_! And Fennec was just _loving_ it, her face neutral but her eyes dancing. Boba wasn’t exactly _glaring_ , but he still stared at Fennec for a few moments longer.

“Fennec…” Ravla began, without really knowing what she was going to say.

“What?” the other woman said, as innocently as a professional assassin could. Which was… pretty good, actually. “I’m just looking out for you.”

Boba bit back the urge to say that _he_ was doing that just _fine_ , thank you. Instead, he said, “she can make her own decisions.”

A grin returned to Fennec’s face, barely a twitch at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, I’m _well_ aware of that, Fett. Seems to be working out _very_ well for her.”

Now, Ravla did hang her head in one hand, scrubbing it over her face and carding her fingers through her hair. “You’re _awful_ ,” she muttered, and Fennec chuckled, scooping up her empty dishes and going over to the sink.

“But you’re not denying anything,” Fennec pointed out.

Boba made a grumbling noise. It could have been a sigh, a growl, or a noise of disapproval or even annoyance. But Fennec just chuckled. “I’m going to pack up. Got a com last night that my ride is coming in a little early.”

“Mm. Good,” Boba said, tone light, as if he were simply glad that things were running ahead of schedule for a respected colleague. 

Ravla couldn’t help herself, hiding her grin behind the rim of her cup as she took a drink. Boba saw, and she glimpsed an answering curl at the corner of his mouth. After Fennec left the room, Ravla set her cup down, scrubbing a hand over her face again. “Maker,” she muttered.

Boba snorted. “That woman has _nothing_ to do with the Maker,” he muttered.

It startled a laugh out of her, and her eyes crinkled up with a smile as she looked over at him. Stars, she had it bad. She was head over heels for this big, grumpy bounty hunter. And as painful as the end would be, she couldn’t remember being this happy in _years_. She wouldn’t trade it for anything. “She’s right, though,” she said, leaning back in her chair. His eyes lifted to her. “Things _have_ worked out quite well for me.”

A sentiment Boba shared for himself. When he had fallen into the pit, even the best scenarios his panicked brain had come up with hadn’t even been _close_ to this. The best chance scenario _had_ involved a rescue but… nothing about someone like Ravla. Someone who _cared_ as deeply as she did. Finally, he chuckled, shaking his head. Who was he to question the universe in what it threw his way now? Surely, this was already more than he deserved.

“Mm, you’re not the only one,” he said, words coming out a gentle rumble, as close to an admission as he was sure he would ever get. 

Somehow, that handful of words—simple as could be—cut right to the center of Ravla’s heart. Her breath hitched, a shiver racing down her spine and prickling the hair on her arms. Her chest went tight, and she had to take a pointed breath before she trusted herself to even _think_ about speaking. That confirmation—however casual it might be—that Boba was enjoying their time together, too…

Ravla didn’t have the words for it. The power of the words made her ache, quickly followed by a bittersweet edge, thinking of the feelings she was keeping to tightly wrapped and hidden away. He really had no idea how much those words meant to her, and the smile that spread across her face was warm and genuine. 

000

Fennec left later that evening, swinging her rifle and bag into the back of the land speeder. She gave Ravla a pointed wink before saying something to the driver. They spend off into the distance, sending up a plume of sand and dust. Ravla watched until they finally crested a dune and vanished from sight. Feeling a twinge in her joints, Ravla turned towards the horizon, the twin suns setting the sky aflame as they dipped lower.

Boba saw her flex her wrists, a frown flickering across her face before she massaged along one circle of scar tissue. “Let’s get inside,” she murmured, turning back.

Standing with her back to the horizon, the suns gave her dark brown hair a copper-red glow, a soft halo of waves around her shadowed face. She was… Kriff. She was _beautiful_ , her image gone soft at the edges as the wind stole a whisp of hair to dance across her face. Reaching out, Boba tucked it back behind her ear, rough fingertips skimming her softly freckled cheek. Her lashes fluttered, color spreading slowly as his hand lingered.

Ravla couldn’t help but smile, warmth creeping up her face. She had never thought Boba to be dangerous because of his softness, the tiny little pieces of tenderness hidden by years of scars and sharply roughened edges. Maybe it was that juxtaposition that made him so entrancing. The way he was a hard, unyielding man, capable of absolutely destroying her, bending her to his every whim. And yet he touched her so softly, skimmed his fingers over her skin like she might shatter. He seemed to genuinely care about her wellbeing. 

No, he _did_ care, at least in some way. Ravla was sure of that. There was keeping your doctor alive and there was… whatever Boba was doing. Their first night together, he hadn’t needed to come back with a damp cloth to wipe the sweat from her brow, to walk her to her room and leave her with a fiery trail of parting kisses up her neck. And later, he hadn’t _needed_ to ask her to say in his bed, to just hold her close when he was at his most vulnerable.

But he _had._

And yet that made it all _worse_. It reminded her that _this_ —whatever it was—was finite, that it had an end. And all the softer things he did just kept stirring the hope that maybe he felt the same for her as she did for him. But as she did any other time such thoughts surfaced, she pushed them aside, turning to nip playfully at his fingers.

“Careful, princess,” Boba warned, even though his eyes had crinkled softly with a smile, gently tweaking her chin before she slipped around him. He followed her inside, watching as she shook out her hand again.

Ravla breathed a sigh as they reentered the lab, rubbing the back of her neck as she rolled her head from side to side. Stiffness was starting to settle into her bones, lingering in her wrists in what was sure to become an ache as the evening wore on. Drifting to one of her shelves, she popped open a bottle of some anti-inflammatories and went to get a glass of water. Boba watched silently, catching her rubbing at her wrists again after she had taken the pills with a quick sip of water. His eyes narrowed briefly.

“Are they bothering you?” he asked.

Ravla blinked, unaware that her mind had been drifting. “Sorry, what?”

Boba nodded towards her hands. “You keep rubbing the scars.”

Her eyes lowered, hands going still as she caught herself in the act. She was silent for several moments. She turned, leaning against the counter. “I… My wrists were badly broken. When I got these.” She tapped one wrist, briefly following the raised line of the scar there. Her eyes were still downcast, still looking at her hands. “They hurt sometimes. Usually if there’s a storm coming.”

Boba had lost count of all the bones he had broken, joints he’d dislocated, any number of small aches and pains building up over time in his abused body. Something sharp and possessive flared in his chest, thinking about the force necessary to exert on a pair of binders to actually break a captive’s wrists and tear their flesh so badly. He could taste the bitterness of rage at the back of his throat, unwanted images of Ravla’s pained, tear-streaked face floating before his mind’s eye. He wouldn’t press her further, wouldn’t ask any more questions. Even if he might want to.

When he crossed over to her, he wasn’t exactly sure what he planned to do. But then he was standing before her, gathering her smaller hands in his, looking down as his thumbs smoothed gently over her inner wrists. The raised line of the scars caught softly under his calloused skin, and again, he swallowed down the anger that the image of her hurt and bleeding elicited in him.

“It was… it was right after I left the Academy,” Ravla whispered. She felt safe here, standing with Boba in her lab, in the familiar surroundings of her home. She didn’t look at him, keeping her eyes on his hands as they continued to gently hold her own. “I was angry. Young and stupid. I got…” Her voice hitched, catching on the painful memories.

“You don’t have to, _cyar’ika_ ,” Boba murmured. He didn’t want to cause her pain that she didn’t ask for.

Finally looking up at him, Ravla smiled softly. “But you’ll listen if I do,” she whispered.

Boba breathed a quiet sigh. “Yes. I will.” He _would_ listen. He wanted to bury the possessive rage that was glowing at the edges, smoke threating fire and anger. That anger wouldn’t help, even if she might find some sort of comfort in someone being angry on her behalf.

Closing her eyes, Ravla took a steadying breath. “My transport off planet got attacked by slavers. They separated all the women and girls. I was… a lot _angrier_ back then. It was right after Lyra…” That was a whole other mess, and had nothing to do with her scars.

But Boba wasn’t even thinking about the name she had just spoken. No, he was busy trying to swallow down the scalding, bitter taste of hatred. He had a terrible, sneaking suspicion about where her story might be headed. There was that same possessiveness, sharp and surging in his veins at the thought of some two-bit nothing _shabuir_ laying his hands on Ravla. 

“Just say as much or as little as you want, _mesh’la_ ,” he murmured, voice carefully void of emotion.

The quiet words, plain though they were, soothed Ravla back to calm. “Thank you,” she said, looking up and offering a small smile. But it was too much to keep holding his gaze as she spoke, looking down again as she took a steadying breath. “It was right after my friend, Lyra, had been killed. I was still _so angry_. I got between one of the slavers and a mother and daughter.” She chuckled softly at herself, remembering the spitting fury. 

“When he tried to push me away, I fought him. I think I bit him, because I remember tasting blood _before_ he hit me.” One of her hands left Boba’s, lifting to trace the scar across her cheek. “Pretty sure that’s how I got this.”

She was speaking so calmly, her pain dulled by the passage of time. The possessive feeling was still twisting inside Boba, the thought of someone laying hands on her clawing at the inside of his skull. But he also felt a fierce sense of _pride_ , imagining a younger, angrier Ravla, perfectly willing to sink her blunt human teeth into the flesh of her enemies, if only it meant saving others from suffering. He wasn’t sure she had changed much at all.

“A lot of things about that night are fuzzy,” Ravla continued. “Their leader was… big. He had horns, so maybe Devaronian or Zabrak? I was on the floor, and he stood on my legs when he grabbed the binders. Kept me down. And he…” Her hands broke from Boba’s to mime a sharp yanking motion, and Boba felt as if his blood were about to boil. “I honestly don’t remember much after that, but when I came to my senses, I was in the ship’s medbay.” Another shrug. “I guess the crew took control back? I never asked.”

There were lots of things Boba wanted to say. Chief among them; did she know the slaver’s names, and were any of them still alive? The moment the questions crystalized with clarity in his mind, he felt a surge of something icy. It was sharp and blinding, powerful enough to douse the growing flames of his ire. He had never wanted to kill on behalf of others without being paid. Never wanted to seek out revenge for another person just because they had been hurt and he had the power to do something about it.

Except for once, when his father had been taken from him and he had been almost willing to let the whole galaxy burn in his quest for vengeance. Almost.

The last time he had desired vengeance on someone else’s behalf, it had been for someone he loved, the only family he’d ever known. And now…

It was _pointless_ , a weakness of the soft-hearted. And yet… Boba didn’t _want_ to shove the feeling away. Didn’t want to push away the gentle and unflinching kindness of the fierce little woman standing before him. He didn’t want to toss her aside like he had so many others.

But that didn’t change how dangerous it was. Especially for her. Boba knew that when he left, it wouldn’t just be about his father’s armor and his ship. He didn’t want to just fade away into nothing, eking out some normal life in a tiny, dusty corner of the galaxy. He wanted more than he had ever had before, to loom so large and powerful that his enemies quaked at the very mention of his name.

That was no life for her.

She had lived through war, had seen the horrors of the world and had turned away when she’d had enough. Who was he—a man she’d known for barely a week—to try to drag her back into something like that?

And now, without the mask of anger, he didn’t know what to say. His throat was dry, chest tight. His hands slid up to gently cup her shoulders, leaning down to press his brow to hers, their noses slotted together. He squeezed gently, feeling her hands lift to press against his stomach. Her quiet, contented sigh puffed softly against his lips. He could feel her posture relaxing under his hands, her nose nudging against his as she pressed herself up just a bit. Not as if to push him away, but unknowingly returning the very Mandalorian gesture with a gentle thump.

“Thank you for listening, Boba,” Ravla murmured. The anxiety that had been mounting in her chest to recount the painful memories was all but washed away. This gesture, whatever it meant to him, felt so painfully intimate. The shared closeness, the mingling of their breaths… For all that it was a watered down headbutt, it felt meaningful, almost painfully so.

Boba still didn’t know how to respond. Didn’t know what he could possibly offer in the wake of what she’d given him. But she seemed perfectly content with what he had given her. So for a moment, he just held her, hands dropping to her waist as one of hers slid up to cup the back of his neck.

Ravla knew, that if she hadn’t been in love before, she would have fallen then. When he just held her in the wake of her exposing the wounds of her past, when he met her confession of violence and pain with tenderness and quiet acceptance.


End file.
